


Ever-Fixèd Mark

by Lady_Slytherin



Category: Lovely Little Losers, Nothing Much to Do
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Kissing, Las Vegas Wedding, This is very AU, Weddings, but still in-character hopefully, i love this shitty trope so much, other shakespeare characters make occasional appearances
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-18
Updated: 2016-07-12
Packaged: 2018-05-27 09:15:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 52,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6278590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Slytherin/pseuds/Lady_Slytherin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“We should do it,” Freddie blurted out.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Meg just looked at her with a soft smile. “Do what?” she asked.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“Get married. People do that in movies all the time, don’t they? Get married in Vegas to someone they barely know?"</i>
</p>
<p>Las Vegas is probably the last place Freddie wants to be, but she’s stuck there for an entire <i>week</i> of bonding with the rest of Bea and Ben’s wedding party. When Peter abandons her at a bar, she’s forced to get to know the Maid of Honor.  And then—well, then Freddie makes a spontaneous decision.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Marriage of True Minds

**Author's Note:**

> Huge shoutout to InnermostBox for betaing this! The fic title and the chapter titles all come from Sonnet 116.

There was a bird statuette in the center of the table, and no matter how Freddie shifted in her seat, the eye wouldn’t stop following her. Well. They probably weren’t _actually_ following her, since there had to be some sort of scientific law that made that impossible. That didn’t mean it wasn’t creeping her out, though.

Freddie shifted in her seat, trying to get more comfortable. Unsurprisingly, it didn’t work. “Remind me why we have to stay here when Bea and Ben have already left,” she ordered.

“Because Ben wants us to meet the rest of the wedding party. It’d be pretty rude of us to leave before they’ve shown up,” Peter said, for the third time that evening. He rolled his eyes.

“You’re just saying that because you don’t want to leave yet, aren’t you? Don’t play dumb with me, Peter Donaldson. I remember how late you stayed out at bars during Uni.”

“Maybe, but I’m still right,” Peter said, gesturing with the hand that held his beer. “Consider part of your duties as Ben’s best man.”

“I still don’t know why they’re doing this. Twenty-five is way too young to be getting married,” Freddie said with a groan. “And I can’t _believe_ they dragged us all the way to Vegas for the stag party.”

“Stag and doe party. Bea will have a fit if you leave her out. Anyway, I think it was the maid of honor’s idea.”

“Yeah, but they agreed to it.” Freddie looked around the dark bar, wondering how long they’d have to wait. She had a sudden mental image of a classroom in University, staring at a clock waiting for the professor with some obnoxious person who kept saying ‘You know, if they teacher doesn’t show up after fifteen minutes we’re allowed to leave.’ 

This was what Las Vegas had reduced her to.

“Well, she did manage to come up with a list of bird-themed restaurants and shit,” Peter said. “I think the flamingo themed hotel is what sold it to Ben.”

“You know, there are probably bird-themed restaurants in New Zealand too.” Freddie knew that she should just let it go, but it was weird enough that Ben had found the woman of his dreams and was engaged to her after only eight months without him dragging them halfway across the world for a week of partying with people she’d never met. 

Peter put his hand on her arm. “Relax,” he said, as if it weren’t the _least_ helpful advice he could possibly have given. “I know Vegas isn’t your first choice, but you like to travel, yeah? So can you please look at it that way and at least _try_ to enjoy it?”

“Will you pay for my next drink if I promise to stop complaining?”

“Ooh, can I get in on this?” someone asked. 

Freddie froze. When she looked up, there was a tall woman wearing sunglasses and a crop top standing next to their table. She was—well, to be perfectly honest she was drop-dead gorgeous.

Without waiting for an answer she slid into the seat next to Freddie, which sent some sort of short-circuit through her brain. She pretended to be very interested in the poster next to their table, which was for some band she’d never heard of and was written in an absolutely terrible font.

The woman continued talking. “I’m just saying, if someone’s bribing people to stop complaining, I just want to start this conversation by saying that our flight was hellacious and I am very jetlagged right now, but Bea insisted that we come here and meet you. So if you don’t want me talking about those things all night, you’d better bribe me now. You’re Freddie and Peter, right? I recognize you from social media.”

Peter laughed. “You must be the maid of honor. Meg, right?”

Freddie stared at him, wondering how he could sound so comfortable. The moment Meg had sat down next to her, every interesting thought had left her brain. If called upon to talk right now she’d probably end up saying something stupid and probably related to the weather.

“Right. Balthazar, I found them!” she called to a boy standing near the door.

He’d been playing with his sleeves, but when Meg called his name he looked up as though startled. Slowly, he made his way over to their table and sat down next to Peter. It made Freddie feel a better that he looked a bit unsure of himself.

“Hi, I’m Balthazar,” he said, lifting his hand in a half-wave. “Well, Stanley, really, but nobody calls me that.”

“Excellent, now we’ve gotten names out of the way,” Meg said. She looked at Peter, a challenging glint in her eyes. “Should I keep complaining, or are you paying for the next round?”

Freddie expected Peter to give her one of his Looks, but instead he laughed. “All right. What does everyone want?”

They gave him their drink orders and he went up to the bar, leaving Freddie alone to make small talk with two total strangers. Which, she could completely do. Of course. No problem. She stared at the bird figurine. It did not offer any topics of conversation.

“When did you get in?” Meg asked once the silence had stretched just long enough to feel uncomfortable.

Okay, a question she knew how to answer. Good. “I’ve been in the States for a week now, but I didn’t get here until yesterday. What about you?”

“We got in last night and I slept for more than twenty hours. Balthazar here somehow woke up at eleven this morning, can you believe it?”

“You’d have woken up earlier if you’d slept on the plane,” Balthazar said. He drummed on the table with his fingers in what could have been a nervous gesture. Then again, maybe he just enjoyed the way it sounded.

“You know I can’t sleep on planes. So, what were you doing in the States before this?” she asked Freddie.

“I spent a bit of time in DC learning about American politics. It’s way too expensive to come to the States for just a week, even if Bea’s family is paying for part of it. Peter came up early too but he was staying in New York with some theater friends.”

Meg nodded. “Yeah, I wasn’t really thinking about how expensive it would be when I suggested Vegas. I’m glad Bea’s parents have been so on board with this whole thing. It helps that Hero’s already in the states, too.”

“Hero’s Bea’s sister, right?” Freddie was quite proud of herself really, for thinking of this many things to say. Maybe this would be okay after all. Meg was turning out to be easier to talk to than most people. Especially most people Freddie was attracted to. Okay, so she had a hard time thinking of things to say around cute people, but so what? Lots of successful people had the same problem.

“They’re cousins actually, but they act more like sisters. You’ll meet her tomorrow when she arrives. She’s been travelling with her mystery girlfriend working on an independent film.”

Freddie laughed. “Mystery girlfriend? You mean you don’t know who she is?”

“Bea’s talked to her over Skype,” Balthazar said. “They didn’t meet until they started work on the film, so none of us have seen her. I think she’s from New Zealand, though.”

“So Hero works on films?”

“Yeah, she’s directing this one.”

“What do the rest of you do?” Freddie asked.

“I write freelance for a couple of magazines, and Balthazar here’s a famous musician,” Meg said. Her face seemed to brighten when she mentioned her job, which was surprising. Freddie didn’t know anyone who felt that way about work. Except for Peter with acting, but that wasn’t a _normal_ job, really.

Balthazar laughed. “I’m not really famous,” he told her. “I mean, I’ve been paid to play a few times, and I’m hoping to release an album soon, but I haven’t quit my day job or anything like that.”

“What is your day job?” Freddie asked. She settled back into her seat as Balthazar launched into a meandering explanation of the vegan coffeeshop where he worked. Then Meg shifted so that their legs were pressed together and Freddie gave up on listening in favor of regulating her breathing. 

Peter returned with their drinks. “Here you go,” he said, passing them out. He scooted back into the booth next to Balthazar. Freddie noticed that they were closer together than they’d been before Peter went for drinks. She also noticed that Balthazar did not particularly seem to mind.

“We were just discussing our boring jobs,” Meg said. “Except for mine, of course, which is exceptional and engaging. What do you do?”

“I work at a bar,” Peter said, taking a swig of his beer. “I’ve started to pick up some paid acting, though, so I’ve been able to cut back my hours.” 

“Do you sing at all?” Balthazar asked. 

Peter looked surprised. “Yeah, when they want me to,” he said. His face was doing that thing it always did when he talked about acting, the one where it looked like he was trying not to smile and failing. It bugged Freddie, but not as much as it usually did.

“Balthazar’s a musician,” she said, to prove to Peter that she was _just fine_ at making small talk and could totally interact with people even when he wasn’t there. 

“Oh yeah?” Peter asked, turning to Balthazar for confirmation, and oh God, he was _glowing,_ and not just because of the conversation involving theater. She hadn’t seen Peter stare at someone like that since he’d dated Costa during University. “What do you play?”

“Guitar and uke mostly, but I dabble in a bunch of other things. Hey, if you sing maybe you could help me record a duet sometime.”

“Yeah! That’d be great, bro.”

Peter and Balthazar started discussing ideas. When it was clear that they weren’t going to return to the group conversation any time soon, Meg turned to Freddie and said, “You know, you still haven’t told me what you do.”

Freddie took a moment to gather her thoughts, then explained the work she did with the Labour Party. “I’m still too inexperienced for a lot of things I’d like to do, but I had to start somewhere. Someday I’d like to run for party leader, but that’s still a long way off.” This had become crystal clear after Ben had started forcing her to practice speeches with him on weekends. She was fine, until the cameras came out or anyone besides her and Ben entered the room. Which was, you know, understandable, but not particularly ideal for politics.

“That sounds interesting,” Meg said. “You wouldn’t have struck me as the political type.”

_Huh._ Freddie looked at her thoughtfully. “What type do I strike you as, then?”

Meg tilted her head. “I don’t know,” she said thoughtfully. “Artist, maybe.”

“No, never been much for art.” 

“All right, then.”

Was it? Freddie had never thought of herself as anything _but_ the political type. What did this mean, that someone could see her so differently? It shouldn’t have bothered her, but it did, settling in the pit of her stomach in an uneasy sort of way. 

The four of them continued to make small talk, and the longer she stayed in the conversation that more Freddie found herself able to relax. Balthazar was easy to talk to, and Meg—well, Meg was so interesting that Freddie forgot to be nervous around her, even if she had been wrong about the politics thing. 

“So, how do you two know Beatrice?” Peter asked, once they’d covered all of the basic small-talk points. 

Balthazar was the one who answered. “We went to school together for a while. I was better friends with Hero, but Bea and I ended up becoming pretty close as well.”

“What about you?” Freddie asked, turning her head so that she could see Meg’s face.

“We grew up together,” Meg said. “The wedding thing’s a surprise, though. I wouldn’t have expected her to be the first of our friends down the aisle.”

Balthazar shrugged. “I dunno,” he said. “I can see it. I mean, she never really played into the whole dating thing. It makes sense that once she’s found something good she wants to hold onto it. I’d be more surprised if she dated a lot of different people before settling down.”

“It is weird though, isn’t it?” Freddie asked, glad that someone besides her seemed weirded out by this whole thing. “That we’re old enough to have friends who are getting married. I don’t think I’ve ever been to the wedding of someone who was my own age.”

“I’m with you there,” Meg said. She took a long drink from her cocktail. “I can’t believe my best friend’s getting married at twenty-five.”

“Thank you!” Freddie said. She turned to Peter. “See, I’m right! They’re way too young to get married.”

“You’re not saying shit like this to Ben, are you?” Peter asked, a warning in his tone. He set down his glass and put on what Freddie had dubbed his Serious Business face. “Look, I know you don’t approve of this whole thing, but you need to let Ben make his own decisions. Just because you’ve never made a choice without a thousand lists of things that could go wrong doesn’t mean everyone else has to plan things out that way.”

For some reason, this stung. “I don’t list thousands of things that could go wrong,” Freddie said quietly.

“All right,” Peter said, raising an eyebrow at her. “Name one spontaneous decision you’ve ever made. And I’m not talking about wearing the purple sweater instead of the red one. We’re talking big, life decisions.”

Freddie opened her mouth, but nothing came out. “I—I could be spontaneous if I wanted to!” was her weak response.

“Freddie, you have a five year plan,” Peter said. His tone was gentle but that didn’t make it hurt less. “I bet you even know what age you want to be when you get married.”

“I do not!” (She did. It was twenty-nine, so that she could have several years of getting used to being married before she had her first kid somewhere between the ages of thirty-three and thirty-five. See? She could be flexible.)

“Sure you do,” Peter said. “And look, I’m not saying it’s a bad thing, but that’s not Ben, okay? And he’s had a hard enough time with his parents pushing their standards on him without you doing it too. Different people can do things differently, yeah? So can you let it be and just let Ben be Ben?”

“Ooh, good band name,” Meg said “Or like a really weird couple name for him and Beatrice.” As she said this, she put her hand on Freddie’s knee in a comforting gesture. Freddie gave her a tiny smile in return.

Peter laughed. “I’m going to tell Ben you said that,” he said. “He’ll think it’s funny.”

The conversation shifted. They talked for another forty minutes or so (Freddie definitely wasn’t discretely checking the time on her phone, what are you talking about) before Balthazar said he was ready to head back and go to sleep.

“Do you want me to walk you back to the hotel?” Peter asked.

“Only if you want to.” Balthazar looked as though he were trying to hide a smile.

“I do.” Peter dropped a handful of bills in front of Freddie. “For the drinks,” he said. “Don’t wait up.”

Freddie gave Peter a discrete thumbs up as he followed Balthazar out of the booth. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Yeah, see you tomorrow.” 

She watched Peter and Balthazar leave. By the time they had made it to the door, they were already deep in conversation. Peter was moving his hands animatedly, clearly invested in whatever they were talking about.

When the door had shut behind the two boys, Meg turned back to Freddie with a fierce look on her face. “Is Peter into guys? Because if he’s just leading Balthazar on because he’s oblivious or thinks it’s funny you need to tell me right now so I can warn him.”

Freddie was surprised by Meg’s intensity. “He’s bi,” she said. “And he was definitely making flirty eyes, I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

Meg’s face changed quickly, breaking into a grin. “He’s bi? Yes!” she said, pumping her fist. “I need more bi people in my life. I mean, there’s Hero of course, but she’s been out of the country. I need _local_ bisexuals.”

“Well, I don’t know if you’d count me, but I’m pansexual,” Freddie said. She didn’t usually talk about her sexuality this early on, but it was different with other queer people, especially when they were beautiful women who might be willing to give Freddie their number if they knew she liked girls. _Hypothetically_ give her their number.

Meg smiled. “It counts if you want it to. Besides, I’d want to be friends with you even if you were straight.” After a moment, she added, “But I’m glad you’re not.”

_What does that mean?_ Freddie wondered, deciding to think it through logically instead of listening to the warm feeling that was spreading through her body. Probably nothing aside from what her excitement over Peter’s bisexuality had been. _It doesn’t mean she likes you,_ she told herself firmly, but all the same, she could still feel Meg’s thigh against hers, was acutely aware that they were still sitting on the same side of the table even though they didn’t have to be.

“You think the whole Vegas thing is stupid, don’t you?” Meg asked abruptly. “Bea told me you weren’t really on board with this.”

“Kind of,” Freddie admitted, reeling a bit from the new topic. “It’s nothing against you, I just really don’t know what we’re doing here.”

Meg sighed. “I don’t either, really. Bea wanted me to plan things, and I wanted it to be spectacular for her. And I needed something to do, you know? My life’s been so _boring_ lately. I just wanted to shake things up a bit.”

Freddie couldn’t even conceptualize this. When her life was boring, she always focused on the next step, what she could be doing so that one year from now, five years from now, ten years from now, she would be where she wanted to be. Was this what Peter had meant, when he’d accused her of not being spontaneous enough? “Is it working?” Freddie asked, to avoid the questions moving around in her head.

“Not yet. But I’ve only been here a day, and I spent most of it sleeping. By the time things are over, I’ll have taken Las Vegas by storm,” Meg said, winking at her. 

Freddie could feel her face flush. She focused on her drink. _Name one spontaneous decision you’ve ever made,_ Peter’s voice demanded in her head. 

_Just because a choice is spontaneous doesn’t mean it’s a good one,_ Freddie reminded herself. _It’s better to be safe._ So what if she made it to thirty without having ever made a spur-of-the-moment decision? Would that be so wrong? Anyway, it was better than ruining her life in the moment because she didn’t plan ahead well enough.

_Right, because there’s no other options besides those two,_ Peter’s voice said. Freddie ignored it. “Well, I hope you find what you’re looking for,” she told Meg.

Meg laughed. It sounded strained. “Of course I’ll find it,” she said. “I always do.”

Freddie considered asking what that meant, but didn’t. Her entire body was full of questions and if she added another one she might just spill over. “Is there anything in particular you’re hoping to do while you’re here?” she asked instead. Still a question, but a benign one. It didn’t mean anything.

Before Meg could answer, her phone buzzed. It had been doing this on and off all night, but this time the tone was different. “Just a second,” Meg said, opening the message. Freddie couldn’t make out the words on the screen, but she saw the instant impact they had on Meg’s face, which went from playful to exhausted in approximately 0.7 seconds. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing,” Meg said quickly. “Just a text from Bea.” She looked down at it again, then set her phone down on the table and buried her face in her hands. 

“Are you all right?” Freddie asked.

Meg sat back up, looking embarrassed. “I’m fine, it’s just that—I never thought Bea would get married before me, you know?” she said. She ran a finger along the edge of her eye, as though trying to stop tears before they started. “It’s not that I really want to be married at twenty-four, but—she always hated boys, and dating and all of that. I honestly thought she might be aromantic for a while, she just seemed so disinterested. And now she’s getting married and leaving me behind and it _sucks._ And I’m sitting here getting upset about it to a near-stranger because that’s what I do. Stupid, right?”

Freddie wondered if she was allowed to put an arm around Meg’s shoulder. “I don’t think that’s stupid at all,” she said, reaching out to touch her hand for a second. “It’s weird for me too. I just really don’t feel like I’m at the age where my friends would be getting _married._ ”

“Me neither. It makes me feel way older than I want to be,” Meg admitted. “Like, I’m realizing how much my life is going to keep changing over the next few years, and I hate it.”

“Yeah.”

“Bea and I had a marriage pact, did you know that?” Meg asked. “If neither of us was married by the time we were thirty-five, we were going to marry each other. I never really thought we’d follow through on it, I just—I didn’t think I was ever going to lose her as a backup plan.”

To Freddie’s horror, Meg started to cry. Which wasn’t a problem, of course, people were allowed to cry if that was how they felt, it was just that Freddie was in no way equipped to handle this. “I’m sure you won’t need one.”

Meg just looked at her. “But what if I do?” she asked. “What if nobody ever loves me, or if they only want me because I’m fun and know how to party? It’s just—it’s really fucking hard to find someone who actually gets you. What if that never happens for me?”

“It will.” Freddie hated this, hated the fact that these were real problems and she couldn’t just make it go away. “Look, I know I don’t know you well enough to say anything that won’t sound fake, but I really can’t believe that someone as incredible as you won’t find someone.”

Meg’s face softened. She laid her head on Freddie’s shoulder for a moment. “Thank you,” she said.

They resumed their previous position, close but not touching, and went back to talking. As much as she tried to keep her distance, Freddie found herself angling her body towards Meg’s. After a while, one of the waitresses began glaring at them, probably because it had been well over an hour since either of them had ordered a drink. Usually this would have made Freddie fidgety, but then Meg laughed and imitated the woman’s scowl, and just like that it was a game. How long they could talk before they were asked to leave. How many minutes Freddie could avoid staring at the waitress by staring into Meg’s eyes. (How many times she could picture kissing Meg without actually taking action, the way her lips would probably be chapped and leave bright red stains all over Freddie’s mouth. Normally she hated other people’s lipstick on her own mouth, but she’d gladly make an exception this once.)

Finally, the waitress came over, raising both eyebrows as high as they would go. “Do you girls want anything else to drink?” she asked, in a tone that made it clear that if the answer was no they would have to leave.

Meg smiled sweetly. “I’m good, actually. What about you, Babes?” she asked Freddie. “You want anything?”

Freddie managed to shake her head. _Babes._ Of course, Meg seemed like the type who would call everyone babe, but that knowledge wasn’t enough to keep Freddie’s heart from speeding up.

“We’re fine, thanks,” Meg said to the waitress. “We’ll let you know if we need anything.”

After another prolonged glare, the woman stalked away.

“Think we’re getting some sort of message?” Meg whispered.

“It’s been a long time since we bought anything,” Freddie said. “Maybe we had better go.”

“Maybe,” Meg said. (Was it Freddie’s imagination, or had Meg’s eyes flicked to her lips?) “I don’t really want to, though. The only things to do at a hotel this late at night are sleep and watch TV.”

“And you don’t want to do that because of the jet lag,” Freddie said, unsure of how well she was following this conversation. It was hard to concentrate, with Meg’s face so close to her own. Had they been sitting this close together at the beginning? She couldn’t remember.

“Yeah,” Meg said slowly, not taking her eyes off of Freddie. “Because of the jet lag. I suppose I could always hang out at the casino, but I don’t like my odds.”

After a few more moments of staring, Freddie broke eye contact. She wouldn’t be able to think if she kept looking at Meg, and this situation demanded a solution. They couldn’t stay here, not with that waitress looking more and more like she might throw them out with every passing minute. They couldn’t go back to the hotel, either. Whatever was happening between them right now was too fragile. If they separated now, they might never get it back This left only one option. “Do you want to walk around outside?” she suggested. “Instead of going back to the hotel? If we stay in well-lit areas we should be pretty safe. I get the feeling that there’s always people around in Vegas, even at night.”

“Even if there’s not, I took six months of self-defense classes,” Meg said. “So I can protect you if you necessary.” She winked and went up the the bar to pay their tab.

When they stepped out into the warm night, Meg’s hand slipped into hers. “Look at all of the lights,” she said, as though the two of them holding hands was the most natural thing in the world. “It’s beautiful here.”

“It is,” Freddie said, looking down at their entwined fingers. She opened her mouth to ask what they were doing, what this all meant, but decided not to. 

They walked for a long time without talking much. It was the sort of summer night that doesn’t feel like any time at all. The streets were lit up with so many lights that Freddie was pretty sure if she closed her eyes she wouldn’t know whether it was day or night. There were people around, but nobody came into contact with them. Freddie imagined herself and Meg as an island, separated from those around them by a vast sea. She liked that image. Being alone with Meg was nicer than being alone by herself.

“Even if Vegas wasn’t your first choice, you must be glad to be out of the country for a bit,” Meg said. “Gives you a chance to live life a little more.” She nudged Freddie’s shoulder with her own.

“What do you mean?”

“You know, with your job and everything. You don’t get to let loose as much if it might end up plastered all over the paper, right? So it’s good that you’re here. Anything you do this week isn’t likely to make it to the New Zealand press, is it?”

“I suppose not,” Freddie said. She hadn’t thought of this before. The whole news cycle thing had never been a problem for her. “I’m not planning on doing anything that newsworthy, though.”

Meg said with a sight. “You’re probably too busy working your way up the tiers of New Zealand government to go out on the weekends.”

Freddie nodded, trying not to let her emotions show. She wondered if this was how Meg saw her, an uptight girl who stayed home on weekends advance her career. She tried to argue with this image of herself, but couldn’t even remember the last time she’d gone out on a weekend. Was this who she’d become? Freddie tried to console herself with the fact that she’d partied during Uni, but then, it’d have been impossible not to with Peter as a flatmate. Maybe she’d have been boring then too, if she’d lived with someone different.

Freddie didn’t want to be boring. She wanted to dig her hands deep into the earth and change the world. But that meant working in government and putting in her time until she could get elected party leader, didn’t it?

Oh God, maybe she really _was_ boring.

But maybe she didn’t have to be. Maybe Meg had the whole thing figured out, when she said that Vegas would be a new start. Freddie ignored the tightness in her chest to consider this.

“What are you thinking about?” Meg asked when the pause in the conversation stretched on.

“I don’t know. Adventure, I suppose.”

Meg grinned widely. “Yes, Babe! I knew I’d get you in the Vegas spirit!”

“I didn’t say that,” Freddie said, but she was smiling too. Meg’s enthusiasm was infectious. It made her want to stay out until dawn, or dance in the rain, not that it was raining right now. But maybe it would tomorrow. Anything could happen in Las Vegas, right? 

Since she couldn’t do either of these things, she threw her arms around Meg’s neck. It was meant to be a friendly hug, but Freddie miscalculated the distance and pulled Meg’s body far too close to her own. 

Meg froze, then slowly moved her hands so that they settled around Freddie’s waist. They stood like that for a while, hugging in the middle of the sidewalk while the occasional annoyed-looking pedestrian moved around them. Freddie ignored these people, scared that if she broke eye contact with Meg the moment might disappear.

Meg’s eyes flicked to her lips. “How drunk are you?” she asked. “Because I’d really like to kiss you, but if you’re drunk—”

“I’m not,” Freddie said quickly. “You can kiss me. That is, if _you’re_ not too drunk. I don’t want to take advantage of you either.”

Meg smiled. “Okay,” she whispered. “And no, I’m not too drunk.” She moved one of her hands up to Freddie’s cheek and leaned in. It seemed to take forever for their lips to meet. When they did Freddie was pretty sure there were fireworks, all though that may have just been sound from a nearby casino. Her heart sped up as Meg’s fingers caressed her skin, and she sighed into her lips.

Eventually, Freddie forced herself to pull away. They looked at each other for a long time before Meg let her arms drop.

“Well, that was—” Meg began, but seemed unable to finish her sentence.

Freddie nodded. “Yeah,” she whispered. “It was.”

It was hard to know what to do after that, so they went back to holding hands and walking, almost as if nothing had happened. But it had, and Freddie could barely focus on holding up her end of the conversation. 

“Are you excited about the wedding?” Meg asked much later. By this point, Freddie felt as though they’d traversed the entirety of Las Vegas. She’d been keeping careful track of where they were in relation to the hotel on her phone (thank God for Google Maps) and was disappointed to see how close they were to being back where they’d started. She didn’t mention this to Meg.

“I suppose so, yes. It’ll be nice to meet the rest of Bea’s friends. I mean, I like the ones I’ve met so far.” Freddie blushed.

Meg squeezed her hand. “Good, because I like the friends of Ben’s that I’ve met so far.”

“Oh. Good.”

“So you’re excited, then? Because earlier at the restaurant it didn’t sound like you were. It’d be okay if you’re not, you know. As long as you can fake it during the wedding, you’re allowed to feel however you want to. At least, that’s the theory I’m currently working off of.”

“I mean, Peter’s right,” Freddie said. “I shouldn’t judge them. For all I know I’d be getting married this young if I’d ever met the right person.”

Meg stretched out her other arm pretended to hold a microphone in front of Freddie’s face. “So if you had to get married right now, what would you want your wedding to be like?” she asked.

Freddie tilted her head as she thought about this. “Small,” she said. “I hate big weddings. I don’t know why anybody would want that many people around. I’d just have really close friends and family, I think.”

“I like big weddings,” Meg said, dropping the interviewer act. “But you’re right, small ones seem so much more—intimate, right?” 

Was it Freddie’s imagination, or had Meg raised her eyebrows at the word ‘intimate?’ She swallowed hard. “I wouldn’t want my dress to be too fancy either,” she said. “Or white. I hate how I look in white. I could wear purple maybe, or green.”

“I think I could rock a white dress,” Meg said contemplatively. “But it’d been cool to have both brides wearing different colors, in a two-bride situation.”

“Are we planning our wedding with each other now?” Freddie asked, laughing a little bit. Shit. Why had she said that? Her heart sped up as the image entered her head, the dancing and the cake and Meg, there at her side. It was a nice fantasy, but she shouldn’t have said it out loud.

But Meg just laughed. “Sure, why not?” she said. “Let’s see. Balthazar would play the music, of course. Just because Bea and Ben have asked him to play at theirs doesn’t mean we can’t have him too.”

“Why Balthazar?” Freddie asked. “I have musical friends too, you know. Peter and I lived with a girl named Paige after Ben left school and she was a really good singer.”

“Are you still in contact with her?”

“Well, no. But that’s what Facebook is for.”

“Fine, Balthazar will play piano and your friend Paige will sing. Happy?”

“Yes.” Freddie had to laugh at herself a little bit. Leave it to her to get competitive about who would do music for an imaginary wedding.

“Anyway, who plays isn’t really that important. What’s important is what songs we’ll have them do.”

The answer came out of Freddie’s mouth without her even having to think about it. “Girls Like Girls. They can perform it on a constant loop.”

Meg laughed. “Yes!” she said. “That’s perfect. You know, I have really vivid memories of the first time I listened to that. I hadn’t come out to anyone yet, but knowing that a song like that could exist just helped so much. I’m pretty sure it was all I listened to for about a week.”

“Me too,” Freddie said. “You know, listening to that song really made me feel like everything was going to be okay eventually. That sounds pretty stupid, doesn’t it?”

“No, I get it,” Meg said, squeezing Freddie’s hand. “It can be really, really shitty to live in this sort of heterocentric society. Of course we get excited when something exists that is actually about us.”

“Perfect,” Freddie said. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “All right, so we’ve got the music sorted. What about food?”

“What about something _really_ exotic?” Meg asked. “Wait, no, what about something really unexciting, like macaroni? Only we’ll have it cooked up in a really fancy way so it’s a mix of comfort food and something classy.”

“Absolutely,” Freddie said. It wouldn’t work for a real wedding of course, but macaroni was one of her favorite foods. “All right, are there any other details we need to decide upon for our imaginary wedding?”

“Do you know how to dance?” Meg asked. “Or am I going to have to make you sign up for lessons? Because I’m telling you right now, I refuse to have a wife who doesn’t know how to dance.”

“I can dance. At least, I think I can,” Freddie said. Suddenly, she wasn’t sure.

There was a mischievous glint in Meg’s eye. “All right,” she said. “Show me.”

Freddie hesitated, then put one hand on Meg’s waist and took her hand with the other. They turned a slow circle around the sidewalk. It should have been awkward, dancing like this, but music from a nearby club filtered out to where they were standing and Meg’s hair was shining in the moonlight and honestly, it was absolutely perfect.

Except.

“You’re too short to lead,” Meg informed her, as the height difference became more of an issue with every step they took. “I should be the one leading.”

“Do you even know how?”

“It’ll work better, trust me.”

“If you don’t know how to lead, you shouldn’t do it,” Freddie said, still steering Meg in circles around the sidewalk.

Meg rolled her eyes. “I think I can figure it out.”

“It’s harder than it looks!” Freddie said. She tripped over Meg’s feet and had to lean harder into her, proving her point.

“Babe, can you please just let go of control for five seconds and let me lead? I promise things will not fall to pieces if I’m not perfect at it.”

Freddie opened her mouth to keep arguing, but changed her mind when she tripped a second time. “Fine,” she said. 

They adjusted their positions. Meg put her hand on Freddie’s waist, tried to lead, and promptly tripped. Freddie managed to catch her before they both fell. 

They let go of each other. Meg collapsed into fits of giggles. The words _I told you so_ were on the tip of Freddie’s tongue, but she decided not to say them. Somehow, she preferred just staring at Meg, who was standing under a streetlight as though this were a play and she were the lead. 

A clock at a nearby 24-hour chapel struck three. They’d have to get back to the hotel soon. But then the night would be over forever, and who knew if things would ever feel like this again? In that moment, Freddie felt as though she would have stayed out forever if it meant she could keep this. 

A very bad idea was forming in her head.

“We should do it,” Freddie blurted out, digging her fingernails into her clenched fist. Her heart was beating so hard that for a moment, she couldn’t even hear the sound of passing cars. All she could hear was Peter’s voice, telling her that she wasn’t spontaneous enough, and her inability to say anything back because he was right.

Meg just looked at her with a soft smile. “Do what?” she asked.

“Get married. People do that in movies all the time, don’t they? Get married in Vegas to someone they barely know? We’d be like a cheesy rom-com trope.” Freddie managed to stop herself from continuing to talk, managed to stare at Meg and wait for an answer, and honestly, she wasn’t sure which would be worse, a yes or a no. All she did know was that it was too late to take it back.

After a moment, Meg’s mouth curved into a grin. “Bea and Ben would be _so_ pissed that we got married before them.”

“They would,” Freddie agreed.

“It’d be pretty irresponsible, too. Which is good, because honestly I am really, really sick of having to act like a grown-up all the time.” Meg threaded her fingers into Freddie’s and squeezed her hand. “All right, I’m in. Let’s go find a chapel.”

Freddie actually ran down the street, pulling Meg along with her. They both started to fall, and Meg grabbed onto her for balance, then kissed her on the lips. Freddie kissed her back, sliding her arms around Meg’s neck and pulling her close. When they separated and Freddie was finally able to think straight, the first thought in her head was, _Peter Donaldson, get wrecked._


	2. Worth's Unknown

Meg was awoken the next morning to a loud knock on the door. Her first feeling was one of disorientation, before she remembered that this wasn’t her house, but a hotel room. When the knocking continued, she groaned and dragged her body out of bed. She opened the door, expecting to see Bea or maybe Balthazar. Instead, it was that Peter guy, a mix of surprise and smugness on his face. Meg briefly considered punching him. It was way too early in the morning for this.

“I was looking for Freddie,” he said. “Although I suppose this does explain why we couldn’t find either of you.”

Right. The look on his face was because this wasn’t her own room, it was Freddie’s, and the reason she was in Freddie’s room was—

Oh, _shit._ As she became rapidly more away, Meg remembered _exactly_ what she was doing here. “She’s still asleep,” she managed to tell Peter. Shit, she wasn’t properly dressed, either. Freddie had loaned her a long t-shirt to sleep in, but it only hit her mid-thigh. “Do you want to come back later?” _Later when we’re all fully clothed and Freddie and I have had a chance to talk and figure out what the hell we’re doing maybe?_

“It’s eleven-thirty,” Peter told her. “Bea and Ben are freaking out that no one’s seen you yet. We’re supposed to do lunch and then go to the Wildlife Habitat at one.”

“Oh, no, I overslept!” Freddie cried from the bed. Meg could hear her getting up and making her way over to the door. “Peter, you can go now. Meg and I need to talk about some things. You can tell the others we’ll be there for lunch.”

“Please do not tell me that you’re about to have an unnecessarily awkward morning after conversation,” Peter said. He looked a little bit concerned, which mostly just made Meg consider a few more merits to the punching him idea. 

“We aren’t, actually, because we didn’t have sex,” Freddie shot back, in a voice that implied that this somehow gave her an upper hand. “Although if that’s a conversation we’re having, I seem to remember you leaving with one Balthazar Jones last night.”

Peter shrugged. “We didn’t have sex, though. He’s demisexual or something like that. So if the two of you didn’t have sex, what’s Meg doing here in one of your shirts?”

“She’s—” Freddie seemed unable to finish the sentence. She ran a hand through her hair. Peter’s eyes followed it, narrowing as something glinted on Freddie’s finger—

Meg looked down at her own hand and the matching ring. It had been her idea, finding a pawn shop before they went to the chapel—it was surprisingly easy to find one open that late, and they’d gotten a really good deal. It had felt wrong, somehow, to get married without them. Getting married to someone she had just met in the middle of the night in an unfamiliar city had been no problem, but doing it without a ring? That, apparently, was where Meg Winter drew the line. 

“Freddie,” Peter asked cautiously. “Is there a reason that you and Meg are wearing wedding rings.”

Meg put her hands on her hips. “There is, as a matter of fact. We got married.” It was going to come out eventually. It might as well happen on her own terms.

“You—is this a joke? Freddie, please tell me she’s joking.”

Freddie crossed her arms. “You’re the one who told me I should be more spontaneous!” she said defensively. 

Peter frowned. “When did I say that?”

“Last night! When we were all at the bar and I said Bea and Ben were too young to get married and you accused me of having a five year plan!”

“You do have a five year plan! And I never said you had to be more spontaneous, I just said you shouldn’t expect everyone else to live their lives the same way you do.”

The doorway was starting to feel far too small. Meg dug her toes into the carpet. She wasn’t sure she could handle this, hearing Freddie list reasons they’d done what they had as though it hadn’t been a decision born of magic and moonlight. She looked around the room, wondering if it would be rude to go make herself a cup of coffee because honestly, she was not operating on enough sleep to deal with this.

“Well, I decided to be spontaneous, all right?”

“You know Bea and Ben are going to freak out, right?” Peter said.

Meg’s head snapped up. “You can’t tell them,” she said, narrowing her eyes. Coffee could wait. 

“Why not? They’re going to have to find out eventually.”

No, they don’t. Meg wondered if she had the words to explain this, the way her heart was beating so hard that it hurt, how just the thought of having to talk to her best friend about this made her want to run and never stop. She crossed her arms. “I don’t care, okay! You just can’t tell Bea!”

“Tell me what?” Bea demanded, appearing behind Peter in the doorway. 

Meg closed her eyes. They shouldn’t have done this here, not when this outcome was so goddamn obvious. Fuck this entire situation. There was no point to any of it.

Peter looked at Meg. “You should be the one to tell her,” he said.

“Tell me what?” Bea repeated. “Meg, what’s going on?”

For a moment, she considered refusing to tell. Instead, she swallowed hard and opened her eyes, forcing herself to make eye contact. “Freddie and I—kind of got married.”

“Not just kind of,” Freddie said. She’d moved closer to Meg, either out of a sense of protection or because there were too many people standing in this doorway. “It’s legally binding.” 

“You—you got married. You got _married?_ ”

“Yes,” Meg said, putting her hands on her hips. The trick, she decided, was not to show any weakness, not until she knew where she and Freddie stood and maybe not even then. Nobody could hear her heart beating. Nobody needed to know how close she was to some sort of abyss. 

Bea arched her eyebrows, looking furious. She crossed her arms. “Why? Why would you do that? Wait no, don’t tell me. God, I should have _known_ you would pull something like this.”

“Don’t talk to her like that!” Freddie said. “This was as much my choice as it was hers.”

“Stay out of this! I’m trying to talk to my best friend here.” Bea turned back to Meg. “You know what, I’ve changed my mind. Tell me why you did this. I want to know what the _hell_ made you think it was okay to get married to someone you barely know _two weeks_ before my wedding?”

“You know, this is exactly why I didn’t want to tell you!” Meg said, clenching her fists against the sudden tide of anger. “You know, not everything is about you!”

“No, but my _wedding_ should be! So what was it, you got bored of bar-hopping and decide to do something even more ridiculous? When are you going to grow up?”

A lump was forming in Meg’s throat. Shit, she couldn’t let herself start crying right now. “Shut up.” _Please, please just go away and leave us be to figure things out._

“Oh, great comeback, Meg. Is that the kind of eloquence that talked her into marrying you?”

“It wasn’t even her idea!” Freddie said. Everyone turned to stare at her, except for Meg, who took this moment to let one or two tears slip out. She wiped them away angrily.

“Why are we all standing in front of Freddie’s door?” Ben’s voice asked from behind Bea. 

Meg closed her eyes. Great. This could be a scene from a terrible comedy show about how many people could cram into a very small doorway to lecture their friend about her life choices.

“Apparently Meg and Freddie got married last night,” Peter explained calmly.

Bea threw up her hands. “You know what? I’m not dealing with this right now. If Meg wants to throw her life away that’s her choice.” She stormed off down the hallway.

Ben looked between her and the others. “I should probably—”

“Yeah,” Peter said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Go. I’ll deal with things here.”

The last thing Meg wanted was to be ‘dealt with.’ Ignoring the others, she stomped back into the room and threw herself face down on the bed, managing to get there just before the tears started back up again.

“You can come in,” she heard Freddie say. The door clicked shut and footsteps approached the bed.

“So what happened?” Peter asked. 

Freddie sounded tired, which made sense seeing as they’d gotten in after five the night before. “In our defense, it seemed like a good idea at the time.” 

The bed shifted as Freddie sat down on it and placed a gentle hand on Meg’s back. Meg let herself enjoy it, even though she wasn’t sure she should. She wrapped her arms around the pillow and pulled it even closer to her. Under different circumstances, they would have woken up along and talked and maybe it would have been difficult but it wouldn’t have been _this._

“You know that doesn’t make any sense,” Peter said.

“I don’t care,” Freddie replied stubbornly. “It’s the truth. And before you judge me, Peter, remember that I have four years of dirt on you from Uni and I am not afraid to bring them up if need be.”

Meg lifted her head. “Peter, can you please go?”

“She’s right,” Freddie said. “This is something we need to talk about alone.”

“Are you sure?”

“Peter.”

“Fine. I’ll see you at lunch, then.”

Meg waited until she heard the door open and shut again, then rolled over and leaned against the headboard. Freddie scooted up the bed so that she was sitting next to her. They looked at each other for a little while. There were still tears rolling down Meg’s face, but she decided not to bother hiding them. “Coffee?” she suggested tiredly. Without waiting for an answer, she got up out of bed and put the complimentary grounds in the coffeemaker. If Freddie didn’t want any she’d drink the whole damn pot herself. 

“I’ll have some,” Freddie said. 

While she waited for the coffee, Meg examined her ring. It seemed tighter than it had the night before, or maybe she’d just been too happy to notice. At least it was pretty. The stone was round and based on the price probably wasn’t a diamond, but it sparkled like one. Honestly, if she’d been getting married at a beautiful ceremony with all of her friends and family, this ring still would have felt like the right one.

She poured the coffee into two mugs and brought one over to Freddie, who smiled gratefully. 

“So what do we do?” Meg asked. She managed to climb back into bed without spilling any of her coffee. At least something this morning was going right.

“I don’t know,” Freddie admitted.

“I don’t want to be divorced at twenty-four,” she said quietly.

“I know. I mean, it’s twenty-five for me, but you know what I mean.”

“So what do we do? Just stay married, then?”

Freddie looked at her. There was something soft in her eyes. “Is that what you want?”

She wrapped her hands around her mug and leg the warmth seep into them. “I don’t think I’d be very good at being married,” Meg admitted, looking away. 

“Me neither.”

“It was a pretty wedding though, wasn’t it?” Meg asked. She needed to hear this, needed to know that something about this whole situation had been right. And the chapel _had_ been beautiful. There’d been a stained glass window with a rose on it, and even though the light streaming through it was from a streetlight it had still been magical. When they’d exchanged rings the light had hit Freddie in a way that made her glow, and Meg hadn’t even had to wait for the priest give her the okay before leaning in to kiss her. “Or at least, as pretty as it could be at three-thirty AM in Las Vegas?”

“It was,” Freddie agreed, a smile forming on her lips. “I’m glad that we found a chapel that felt serious, I was scared we’d be stuck with that Beatles themed chapel we were looking at first.” She sipped from her coffee. 

For a moment, Meg let herself imagine that this was a normal morning. It wasn’t too much of a stretch, was it, to picture making coffee and then drinking it in bed with her— wife? The word felt wrong in her mind, like it had sharp edges. She couldn’t imagine saying it out loud. But if she didn’t think about that, just about coffee cups in bed with a beautiful girl who cared about her, talking about what they’d done the day before? 

It was a nice picture. She wished it was real.

“I should probably contact one of the lawyers I know,” Freddie said with a sigh. “I can find one for you too, if you want.”

“For what?”

“For the divorce paperwork.”

“Oh. Right.” Meg looked down at her hand, at the stupid ring, the drank the rest of her coffee in one long gulp, just so she’d have an excuse to get up. “Do you want me to refill you too?”

“Yes, please,” Freddie said. While Meg was making the coffee, she said, “Ben just texted. He says we’re still doing lunch in half an hour and that Bea really wants us to be there.”

Meg poured herself a mug and brought another over to Freddie. “I should probably get dressed then,” she said, stooping down to pick up last night’s clothes. “All right if I take this mug back to my room so I can finish?”

“Yeah, just can bring it back later,” Freddie said. “We can talk more then.”

The words felt dull in Meg’s ears. They probably did need to talk more, but was there really anything else to say? “Okay. I guess I’ll see you at lunch, then.” Her hand was on the knob of the door when Freddie spoke again.

“Meg?”

She turned halfway around to look at Freddie. “Yeah?”

“It really was a nice wedding.”

For some reason, this made everything feel worse. Meg nodded quickly, then walked down the hall to her own room. If she focused on the t-shirt and the fact that she was carrying clothes she could almost pretend that this was the morning after a one-night stand. It helped. It made her feel like she had some control.

Once in her own room, Meg went to the mirror to look at herself. She looked exactly the same as she had yesterday. The only thing different was the ring on her finger. Nothing in her face or her body even suggested that last night could have been real. “I’m married,” she whispered, just to see if this would change anything. It didn’t. 

This was ridiculous. Meg forced herself to turn away from the mirror and towards her open suitcase, looking for something to wear.  
They were eating in the restaurant at the casino, and by sheer force of will Meg managed to get dressed and do her makeup quickly enough that she walked in at exactly twelve-fifteen. Freddie was already there, and Meg spent an agonizing moment debating over where it was okay to sit before strengthening her resolve and sliding into the chair next to Freddie.

“Hi,” she said, then looked around the table. Peter was sitting on the other side of Freddie, with Balthazar across the table practically _glowing_ at him. 

“Hey,” Peter said. “Ben just texted, he and Bea will be here in a minute. It sounds like he’s managed to calm her down.”

Meg sincerely doubted it. She buried her face in her hands, just for a moment, then pretended to deeply consider the menu. Freddie gave her a sympathetic smile, but didn’t say anything. The group sat in silence until Bea and Ben arrived a few minutes later. 

“I’m sorry I yelled earlier,” Bea said as she sat down across from Meg.

Meg wasn’t sure she wanted to let go just like that, but what else was there to do? She wasn’t going to fight like this with Bea, not this week anyway. “Thank you,” she said, looking down at the smooth surface of the table. 

“Besides, Ben pointed out that you should be able to get an annulment pretty easily, yeah?” Bea said, flipping through the menu. “So this won’t be a problem for too long.”

A dull feeling started up in Meg’s chest. “You’re probably right.”

“She’s not, actually,” Freddie said. “Annulments only happens in rom-coms because the characters are drunk when they get married. If you were of sound mind then you have to get a real divorce. ”

Meg wondered how she knew this. Had she already looked into it? The thought shouldn’t bother her as much as it should.

“You—weren’t drunk?” Bea asked, looking between them. “You had a Vegas Wedding when you weren’t even _drunk?_ ”

“In what universe is getting married when you’re sober worse than getting married drunk?” Meg snapped.

“Well, when you’re drunk I at least expect you to make bad choices.”

Meg opened her mouth to argue more, but stopped when she felt a hand on her leg. When she glanced over, Freddie was giving her a comforting look. “You’ve made your point pretty clear,” she said to Bea. “I think Meg and I would both appreciate it if you’d stop commenting on our choices.”

Bea’s face softened. “I’m sorry,” she said, running a hand through her hair. “It’s just that this is really stressing me out and I wish you hadn’t done it.”

“Well, they did,” Peter said. “And it’s their mess to deal with, right? So let’s not all waste our time trying to fix it for them.”

Bea nodded. She looked tired. Meg wondered if she had caused that. 

“So, um, when is Hero getting in?” Ben asked. 

“They’re driving, but she said she’ll be here by six at the latest,” Bea said, brightening. “So we can eat dinner with them, at any rate. It’ll be great to see her again, wont’ it?”

The conversation improved after that point, but it was still fairly awkward. Peter occasionally stepped in to smooth things over, but mostly ignored them all in favor of talking to Balthazar. Meg made sure to shoot him a few glares, mostly out of the need to remind him that she’d kick his ass if he hurt one of her friends.

Fortunately, lunch was cut short by Ben’s desire to get to the Wildlife Habitat as soon as possible. When they finally paid the bill and left, Meg made sure to fall to the back of the group and strike up a conversation with Balthazar about a song he was working on. Sitting next to Freddie at lunch had made her far too aware of what she was doing with her body, and she needed a break.

Ben kept up a running commentary on their way, telling everyone about the birds that were there and which ones he expected they’d actually get to see. He’d read all of the brochures and websites Meg had sent him, which made her feel pretty good about herself, really. She’d done this part right, at least.

By the time they were let into the habitat, Ben was actually bouncing on his feet. “Okay, so first I’m going to take a picture of a flamingo, then—wait, do you think I can get close enough to a flamingo that someone can take a picture of me with one?”

“I’m sure we can manage that,” Bea said. 

Meg wasn’t that interested in flamingos, but she liked the trees that surrounded them here and blocked out the city. She’d seen the pictures online when she researched the place, but she hadn’t really believed there could be somewhere like this in a city like Las Vegas. It was—well, it was beautiful, honestly. There was even a stream. 

Bea seemed to be thinking the same thing. “This is really nice,” she said as they walked. “Good find, Meg.” It sounded more like an apology than her actual apology had.

“Yes!” Ben said. “Meg, thank you so much for bringing us to Las Vegas so that we could witness this enriching wildlife event. The only thing keeping this from being the most perfect place in the universe is the lack of diversity in the breeds of flamingo they keep here.” 

Peter rolled his eyes. “Please, Ben, tell us about the different types of flamingos.”

“Fine, I will,” Ben said. “There are actually six types of flamingos. There’s James's Flamingo, the Andean Flamingo, the Chilean Flamingo, the Caribbean Flamingo, the Greater Flamingo, and the Lesser Flamingo. Although really, how any flamingo can be described as lesser I honestly don’t know. This Wildlife Habitat only houses one kind of flamingo, the Chilean. Now, the Chilean flamingo is known for…”

Meg tuned him out. She had bigger things to worry about than types of flamingos, like the fact that she couldn’t decide how close to Freddie she was allowed to stand. What was worse was the sunlight continuously glinting off her ring, reminding her. Meg had considered taking it off, but somehow that seemed wrong, like she was lying about something. Freddie had kept hers on as well, which made her feel like it was the right choice.

“I see something!” Ben yelled suddenly, running ahead. He stopped. “No, it was a different bird. And I scared it off.”

“That bird was gray though, yeah?” Balthazar asked. “Not sure how you confused it for a flamingo.”

“Baby flamingos are gray until they’ve consumed the right sorts of algae!” 

“Babe, I think they’re over there,” Bea said, pointing. “On that island, see? You know, the one the brochure refers to as ‘Flamingo Island?’”

Ben had already run ahead again. “Look, there’s some in the water, too!” 

The rest of the group followed him to the stream to look at the birds. Ben was running around excitedly, trying to capture pictures and talk to the birds at the same time.

“You’re my favorite animal!” he called vaguely towards the water. “I know that last month I said it was the Tui bird, but that’s only because I’d given up hope of ever getting to meet one of you in real life!” The flamingos ignored him. 

“Do we really all have to walk around as a group?” Freddie asked. “I’m sorry, Ben, but I’d much rather hunt for the turtles the brochure talked about than try to befriend flamingos.”

Ben looked put out. “I want to see what they do in a habitat like this! You’d think they’d be friendlier, spending all day interacting with humans.”

“Could we split up for a little while and then meet back up?” Balthazar said. He glanced over at Peter, then blushed. Meg waited until he was looking her way and then gave an exaggerated wink.

“Oh, I suppose,” Ben said, with a sigh. “We have to meet back here at exactly one-fifty though, or we’ll miss the pelican feeding!”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Wouldn’t want that, would we,” he said under his breath.

Ben either didn’t hear or chose to ignore him. “All right, you can go search for you turtles, Freddie. Beatrice, let’s go see if we can find any flamingos eating! Did you know that the way they do it is by sticking their entire head into the water? It’s fascinating, don’t you think?”

“You’re a nerd,” Bea said, taking his hand.

“Can I go with you?” Meg asked Freddie. “I don’t really feel like watching flamingos shove their heads into the pond. I’d go with Balthazar, but, you know.” She nodded her head towards where he and Peter had already started walking off through the trees.

Freddie nodded. “Of course.”

They walked in silence for a while. Meg wrinkled her nose whenever they got too close to the flamingos, which _smelled._ Why had nobody ever bothered to tell her that they were this gross? They were pretty though, especially the ones in the water, and there were some other cool-looking birds too. Ben was probably having a field day. Meg gave herself a mental high-five for finding this place. 

When they’d been walking for a while, a loud noise made Meg turn her head. “Are those parrots?” she asked, squinting at several brightly colored birds sitting across a branch.

Freddie cocked her head. “I think so. You want to go look?”

“Sure.” They moved closer to investigate. “They are!” Meg said, delighted as she heard the one of the birds urge them to visit the Wildlife Habitat. Which, you know, wasn’t particularly necessary seeing as they were already here, but cool just the same. “Do you think we can make them say something?”

“Give it a try,” Freddie suggested.

Meg stepped as close to the parrots as she was comfortable with. “Meg Winter is the Queen of the world,” she said in a loud, clear voice.

“Stocked with exotic birds, fish, and turtles,” the parrot replied.

“Meg. Winter. Is. The. Queen. Of. The. World.”

“See the flamingos on Flamingo Island.”

Meg turned back to Freddie shook her head. “No luck. You should try.”

Freddie stepped a bit closer, looking nervous. When one of the birds made a sound, she jumped. Meg put a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’m pretty sure we can take them in a fight. Go on, say something.”

“I don’t know what to say!”

“Are you really getting stage fright in front of a group of birds?” Meg asked. She realized her hand was lingering a little too long and quickly moved it.

“Yes!”

“Just say what I said, then.”

Freddie rolled her eyes, then said, “Fine. Meg Winter is the Queen of the world.”

“One of Las Vegas’ most beloved attractions,” a bird squawked back.

Meg sighed. “This is pointless. Let’s go look for the turtles.”

They turned to leave, but had only made it a few yards when one of the birds quietly said, “Meg Winter is the Queen of the World.” Both of them turned to look. Meg thought she may have imagined it, but then the parrot repeated itself.

“I did it!” Freddie said, face breaking out into a grin.

Meg shook her head. “Sorry, Babe, he was copying me.”

“He was not!”

“Sure he was.”

Freddie gave her a playful shove. Meg shoved back, then ran down the hill, shouting “Meg Winter is the Queen of the World!” as she ran. Freddie followed in hot pursuit. When they reached the bottom, Freddie slipped and fell into a patch of mud.

Meg couldn’t help laughing. “I’m sorry,” she said.

“No problem,” Freddie replied, narrowing her eyebrows. “Help me up?”

“Sure.” Meg reached out her hand, and Freddie tried to pull her down. Meg had been expecting this, and pulled back just as hard, which backfired when she somehow managed to both drag Freddie to her feet and fall over backward herself. 

Now Freddie was the one laughing. “Want me to help you up?”

“Aren’t you scared I’ll pull you down here with me if you do?”

“I’m already covered in mud.” 

Freddie reached out her hand, and Meg let herself be pulled up. The momentum was slightly off and Meg found herself far closer to Freddie that she’d expected to be. She put a hand on Freddie’s shoulder for balance, but held on longer than she needed to. 

“Are you all right?” Freddie whispered.

Meg felt as though she couldn’t breathe. “Yeah, I think so. You?” she asked, looking down.

“Yeah, I’m okay.”

Freddie’s lips were so close to hers that Meg didn’t even have to think before leaning in to kiss her. Freddie moved her hands to Meg’s waist and kissed back for a long moment, the abruptly moved away. “We probably shouldn’t be doing this.”

“We did it last night,” Meg whispered.

“Last night we were two single people and now we’re a married couple waiting to get back to our own country to make the divorce process go more smoothly,” Freddie said with a sad sort of smile. “I think the rules are different.”

Meg hated rules. She nodded stiffly. “I think I see some turtles over there,” she said. “Want to check them out?”

They took a few pictures of turtles, then met back up with the group and went to watch the pelicans being fed. The person in charge threw fish into the air, and the pelicans dove to catch them. It was interesting, from a certain standpoint, but Meg couldn’t stop thinking of how hard it was on the fish. She managed to act as though she thought it was cool for Ben’s sake, but couldn’t quite push back the nausea. Next to her, Balthazar looked as though he were feeling the same way.

All Meg wanted to do was get back to her room and shower, but when they got back to the hotel, Hero and another girl were checking in. 

“Hero! You’re early!” Bea said. She ran across the lobby and threw her arms around her cousin. “I’ve missed you so much!”

“I’ve missed you too!” Hero said, returning the hug. 

Meg lagged behind the rest of the group as they approached the front desk. She was excited to see her friend, but she also didn’t know how much Bea had told her. Hero’s disappointment in her was one thing Meg wasn’t positive she could face. Still, the lobby was only so large, and she eventually had to catch up with everyone else. Freddie shot her a worried look, which Meg ignored.

“Oh, it’s so wonderful to see everyone again,” Hero said. “This is Jaquie.” The girl next to her started to smile, then quickly reverted to a surly expression.

Bea smiled and gave Jaquie a hug too. “It’s nice to finally meet you. I mean, we’ve met over Skype, obviously, but it’ll be good to get to know you in person.”

“You’re still trying to decide if you think I’m good enough for Hero, aren’t you?”

“Well, most people aren’t,” Bea said unrepentantly. 

Jaquie actually did smile at this. “Yeah, you’re right about that.”

“Well, we’re all checked in,” Hero said. “I suppose we should move away from the front desk. I can’t imagine they enjoy having all of us standing in the way like this.”

“I should probably go shower,” Meg said, indicating at the mud that had already dried into her favorite shirt. “I’ll see you in a bit?”

“Dinner at six,” Bea said.

Meg climbed the stairs to her room, then got in the shower and turned it up as hot as it would go. She brought her clothes in with her, hoping to wash out the mud before it set too much. The jeans were okay, but the shirt seemed like it might be ruined for good. She hung them both to dry on the towel rack.

Once she was dressed in clean clothes, Meg set an alarm for five-forty and promptly fell asleep. Last night hadn’t done any favors for her jet lag. When she woke up, she dragged herself out of bed and forced herself to go be social. She didn’t talk much through dinner, but luckily nobody but Freddie and Hero seemed to notice. Everyone else was occupied with getting to know Jaquie.

After dinner, Hero pulled her aside. “Bea wants Jaquie to stay and get to know everyone, but I’m feeling tired. Would you like to come up to my room and chat for a little while? It’s been so long since we talked.”

“Yeah, definitely!” This would be the perfect excuse to avoid Freddie. Meg felt bad about doing it, but she needed some time to think after the kiss this afternoon. Would things have been different today, if they weren’t married? Maybe not. Last night seemed to belong to an entirely separate realm of existence, one that once left, couldn’t be re-inhabited. 

Hero stood on her tiptoes to put an arm around Meg’s shoulder. “We’re going up to my room for some girl talk,” she called towards the others. Bea waved to show that she’d heard.

When they got to the room, Hero looked around. “I suppose the bed’s the best place to sit, seeing as there aren’t any chairs.”

Meg laughed. “And here I was worried that you’d confine me to the floor.” She climbed up onto the bed and tried to get comfortable.

“Would you like something to drink?” Hero asked. “I have some tea we bought while we were filming in Portland, it’s quite good. Or there’s water, of course.”

“Thea would be great,” Meg said. “So, tell me all about Jaquie.”

Hero laughed. “I’m not sure I can,” she said, setting water to boil in the coffeemaker. “She’s a bit hard to describe, really. I was sure she hated me for the whole first month we were working together, but it turned out that she doesn’t like to show how she’s really feeling. She can’t hide how much she loves acting, though. It makes her a really nice person to work with. A lot of actors are mostly passionate about seeing their own face on screen, but Jaquie’s really in it for the art. I suppose that’s what drew me to her.”

“She sounds great,” Meg said. What she didn’t say was that how happy Hero looked, she lit up when she talked about Jaquie. Meg wondered if anybody had ever looked that way while talking about her. 

“She is. If it wasn’t such a conflict of interest I’d cast her in every film I direct.”

“You could do it anyway.”

Hero shook her head, still smiling. “It wouldn’t be fair to the other talented actors who audition, would it? Besides, it’s better for Jaquie’s career if she works with more than just one director.” 

“You’re probably right.”

Hero poured the water into two mugs and put a teabag in each. “Here,” she said, handing one to Meg. She sat down next to her on the bed.

“Thanks,” Meg said. “Today’s been—well, it’s been a bit of a mess actually. Did anyone tell you I fell over at the Wildlife Habitat? I got mud all over me. I guess you saw that earlier in the lobby. The things I go through for my friends.” She sighed dramatically.

Hero laughed. “I’m sure Ben appreciated your sacrifice. You know, Bea says this trip is all he’s been talking about for weeks.”

“What can I say? I have amazing taste.”

“So there’s actually something I wanted to talk to you about. Or rather, Bea wanted me to talk to you,” Hero admitted. “She’s worried about some of the choices you’ve been making.”

Meg leaned back against the headboard of the bed. “All right, which version of the lecture are you giving me? The one where I’m irresponsible or—well, I guess that’s the only version, isn’t it?” Meg was proud of herself for the elaborate carelessness of her tone, as though it really didn’t matter to her.

“I wasn’t planning on lecturing, actually,” Hero said. “I mean, I think that’s what Bea had in mind, but I only agreed to talk to you, not to do the conversation the way she would.”

“Okay,” Meg said cautiously. “What sort of conversation _are_ we going to have, then?”

Hero took a tiny sip of tea before speaking. “Well, I’d appreciate it if you could tell me what happened. I mean, Bea filled me in, but she doesn’t seem to know any of the details.”

“I’m tired of talking about what happened,” Meg said, playing with her teabag.

“People are just trying to understand.”

“Well, it’s none of their business.”

“Maybe not,” Hero said. “But we care about you.”

“Does it matter what happened last night?” Meg asked. She pulled the bag of out her tea and put it on the side table. It would drip all over the table, but there was nothing else she could do with it now that she didn’t want it. “Freddie’s made it pretty damn clear that we’re not going to stay married, so what’s the big deal?”

Hero gave her one of those looks that made her seem impossibly old and wise. “Do you want to stay married?”

“Of course not,” Meg said. Her voice shook a little bit. “Look, it was a stupid mistake and it won’t happen again, okay? This isn’t the start of some stupid trend or whatever everyone’s worried about.”

“Actually, it feels more like the middle of a trend,” Hero said mildly. “We’ve been worried about you before this too, you know.”

“What are you talking about?” Meg lifted her tea to her mouth and took a large sip, letting it burn her mouth. 

“Meg, it’s just that—well, you’ve never dated someone seriously, not since Robbie. And now getting married so suddenly—it just feels as though you’re using it as an excuse to keep people at bay. Like you’ve set up this relationship in a way that’s doomed to fail so you’ll just have one more reason not to let anyone get close.”

Meg pictured herself at the wildlife habitat, surrounded by trees that were blocking out Hero’s words. She pictured herself in the ocean. “I don’t do that.”

“No?” Hero asked. “Then why did you decide to get married, when you could have asked Freddie out for dinner or gone to a club or any of the thousands of steps between meeting someone and marrying them?”

“I—” No. Hero had it all wrong. Meg didn’t keep people at bay. It was the opposite. She took people she cared about held them too close, wrapped herself around them until they choked. “It wasn’t even my idea.”

“But you had to have said yes, or you wouldn’t be married right now.”

Meg closed her eyes against the surge of emotions that came along with those words. “If she hadn’t suggested it, I wouldn’t have. It’s not my fault.” Her tone sounded pleading and she hated it. 

“Meg, can you please tell me what’s going on with you?” Hero put a hand on her arm. “I don’t want to pressure you, but nobody really understands why you would do something like this.”

Of course they didn’t. How could they, when Meg barely understood herself why she had done it? “I don’t know, okay?” she said. 

“It’s okay,” Hero said gently, pulling her into a side hug. “Just promise me you’ll look after yourself, okay?”

“Okay,” Meg said. She returned the hug.

For a while after that, neither of them spoke. There didn’t seem to be anything to say, but the silence didn’t feel raw or painful, like the other ones Meg had experienced today. She felt a surge of affection for Hero for not asking more than she could give.

“You’re still wearing the ring,” Hero said after a bit.

Meg shrugged. “It’s pretty, don’t you think?” She held up her hand so they could admire it better.

“It is,” Hero said. “You picked a good one.”

“Thank you.” This, Meg realized, was the first positive thing any of her friends had said about her wedding. She was suddenly filled with a warm feeling. Hero would have understood, if she’d been there. Meg was sure of it. She’d have seen the moonlight and heard the music, and known that this was just something that Meg had to do.

“So what are you two planning to do?”

Meg looked into her tea, which was down to the dregs, then set it on the side table. “Freddie thinks she can find us both divorce lawyers once we’re back in New Zealand.”

“You know,” Hero said. “Freddie seems nice. I can see why you like her. Maybe once you’ve got the paperwork filled out, the two of you can go on a real date.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Meg said, but somehow it didn’t seem possible. She couldn’t sit across the table from Freddie with lawyers on both sides and then get coffee with her afterwards. She imagined their friends referring to Freddie as her ex-wife, in a way that would be meant as a joke but would find a way to burrow itself into her skin. It all seemed like too much.

Meg reached down to the ring on her finger and tried to pull it off, but it got caught on her knuckle. She considered trying harder. She could probably get it to come off, if she pulled hard enough. Meg stared at it, then decided that removing it would be too painful. It would just have to stay there for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are always appreciated! Also, updates will probably be slower from here on out as I'm heading into a more challenging quarter, but I'm hoping to still post pretty regularly.


	3. Not Time's Fool

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up, I outlined the rest of this so now I have a better idea of how long it will be. Currently it's looking like 8 chapters and an epilogue. Thanks for reading!

Freddie had always lived her life by careful planning. For example, her current plan was to get through this week in one piece so she could go back to Wellington and get the divorce as quickly and quietly as possible. The last thing she needed was for this to end up in the paper. She’d only been in the news once, speaking on behalf of a party member’s campaign, but even that had been too much. She’d spent the next month analyzing every word she’d said and whether it was the right one, until eventually she forced herself to recycle the print copy and un-bookmark the website.

On Thursday, Bea decided to drag everyone to an aquarium. When they got there, Ben spent twenty minutes trying to win her an anglerfish in a claw machine before demanding that Peter come in and do it. To everyone’s surprise, it was Jaquie who stepped up and won the stuffed animal on her first try. 

“Can we go look at the fish now?” Hero asked after high-fives had been exchanged between Bea and Ben, despite the fact that neither of them had been the one defeat the claw machine. “We don’t have to, of course. It’s your week for whatever you want, but we did pay for admission and I know I’d really like to look at some fish.”

Bea was hugging the anglerfish to her chest. “Yeah, we can go in now,” she said. “I think I’ll name her Ariel.”

“Like the Little Mermaid?” Peter asked.

“Obviously.” Bea rolled her eyes.

Freddie trailed behind the rest of the group as they went into the main part of the aquarium. She and Meg had been avoiding each other since their kiss at the Wildlife Habitat. They hadn’t talked about it, but it had seemed easier not to get too close. If they never interacted one-on-one, they were safe. There was no possibility that it would happen again. 

It was easy to stay separate from the others for the first several rooms, because everybody was too busy looking at and commenting on the fish to carry on a proper conversation. This changed when Bea and Ben got into an argument about whether fish mated for life.

“They definitely don’t!” Bea said, gesturing wildly. “Look in that tank over there. Do they look like they have advanced enough brains to form families? Besides, some fish eat their mates, right? There’s no way they could form a real bond that way.”

“Not all fish are the same!” Ben cried. 

“Yeah, but none of them are smart enough to mate for life!”

“What about seahorses?” Balthazar asked. “I read a lot about seahorses as a kid, I think they stick with their partners pretty much forever.”

“Thank you!” Ben said, right at the same moment that Bea said, “Traitor.”

Hero looked thoughtful. “I suppose that even if they did mate for life, fish wouldn’t have the same system of relationships as we do, would they? It’s hard to picture a salmon wedding ceremony, for example.”

Freddie moved a little bit away from the group, pretending to be interested in the informational paragraph next to a group of lionfish. It was bad enough to be constantly surrounded by Bea and Ben’s wedding talk. The last thing she wanted was to get dragged into a discussion on fish marriages.

“Can you imagine?” Ben asked. He looked thrilled at the concept. “And then, if they got into a fight about—what do you suppose salmon fight about, the merits of freshwater versus saltwater? Anyway, let’s say they fought about that. Can you imagine salmon having to find divorce lawyers? They’d have to wear tiny little salmon suits, and they’d go to the courthouse, and…” Ben trailed off abruptly. Freddie wasn’t sure but she thought somebody might have nudged him.

Nobody stepped in to fill the silence. Freddie kept her eyes trained to the tank, but she was sure that everyone was looking at her. Well, statistically speaking at least some of them were probably looking at Meg, or awkwardly down at her feet, but still. The best thing to do would be to pretend she hadn’t heard.

“I’m divorced,” Jaquie said suddenly. “Well, sort of, anyway.”

Freddie did turn her head at that, as did everyone in the group but Hero, who seemed to already know. Jaquie didn’t elaborate.

“Is there a story there, or—?” Peter asked. He and Jaquie had spent the past few days bonding after finding out that Jaquie had been in several plays directed by Costa.

She shrugged. “I guess, yeah.”

“Well, are you going to tell it to us?”

Freddie stared carefully at a lionfish. It was darting back and forth in the tank, showing off the red and white stripes. She wondered what it was doing. She wondered why they were even called lionfish, when they looked more like zebras. She wondered how many more questions she could come up with relating to lionfish. Probably a lot. 

“It was Titania, right?” Hero asked. “You told me about this. I don’t know the details, though.”

“Yeah, it was her. I guess I can tell the story, if you really want to hear it.” Jaquie sounded as though she were enjoying this immensely. 

“Oh, we do,” Bea assured her.

“Well, I met her in a musical I was in right after uni ended. She was one of those girls who’s always wearing flowercrowns and shit, you know? It was cute. Anyway, we dated for a few months and she told me she wanted to get married, and I was what, twenty-two? It was my first time being in love and I just kind of went for it. I mean, I kept thinking that we’re all going to die at some point, and if I spent my whole trying to stay safe I’d never get to experience anything.”

Freddie couldn’t breathe. She looked across the room at Meg, who stared back at her. They held eye contact for a moment, then Meg abruptly turned her head. Freddie went back to studying the fish, which was bumping up against the wall of the tank as though it were trying to get out.

Jaquie continued her story. “So we go to Auckland in because she wants to get married in the middle of like, a field? It couldn’t be Wellington because we didn’t want to risk getting rained on. Oh, and Costa was there. He got up in the middle of our Titania’s vow and made her start over. Apparently, she wasn’t using her body to convey emotion well enough, which according to him made the entire wedding feel inauthentic.”

“That sounds like Costa,” Peter said.

The vows when Freddie and Meg had gotten married were the standard ones. Honor, love, and cherish, sickness and health, ‘til death do they part even though in this day and age that was statistically improbable. If they’d written their own, if there’d been time for that before the sun came up, what would Freddie have said? 

“Oh, and one of Titania’s friends was the priest. That’s an important detail. Basically we get married, we’re living together, everything’s great, until one day we’re cooking dinner and this guy shows up and says he’s Titania’s husband. Apparently, this wasn’t the first time she’d run off out of nowhere and married someone new. They had a huge fight in the middle of the kitchen and I was just sitting there trying to decide if I should keep cutting onions or leave.”

“Holy shit,” Bea said.

“Just to clarify,” Peter said. “You weren’t really married, then? Like, Titania’s friend didn’t actually marry the two of you, they just said they did.”

Freddie closed her eyes tightly. The words _love, honor, and cherish_ were still rattling around in her brain. There should be a new vow, a better one. One that said _I’ll probably screw this up a hundred different ways but I’ll never hurt you on purpose and I hope you never have to sit around cutting onions while I break your heart._ Maybe this was why people made their own vows. They could say something real. Freddie could have said something real, but instead she and Meg had gone with the stock-image equivalent of a wedding vow. 

“Right,” Jaquie said. “I mean, it wasn’t legal or anything. We didn’t have to get an official divorce when she went back to him. But it’s not like that changed anything about how it felt. It doesn’t make me any less divorced.”

“I mean, it sort of does,” Ben said. “I mean, it obviously hurt you as much as if it were real, but I don’t think that means you’re really divorced .”

Meg’s voice sounded stiff. “It is. Marriage, divorce, all of that stuff—it’s not about what the legal documents say, it’s about the feelings. If Jaquie feels like she’s divorced, she is.”

Breathing was becoming even more difficult. “I’m going to use the bathroom,” Freddie managed to say, without looking at the rest of the group. Without waiting for an answer, she walked down the hall, then through the door to outside.

The air outside was hot. Freddie took deep breaths, but couldn’t make herself feel calm. After a few minutes of this, she texted Peter with a signal they hadn’t used in years. They’d come up with it in uni for when one of them (usually Freddie) needed to leave a social situation without attracting attention or having anyone follow. Seconds later, Peter responded with a thumbs up emoji and she was free.

Not wanting to go back to the hotel just yet, Freddie decided to walk around the city a bit. It was too hot to go far, but she had her water bottle with her, and so far she’d only really gotten to see Vegas at night. Anyway, she needed to move. Running would have been better if it wasn’t so hot, but Freddie wasn’t willing to risk heat stroke. Walking would have to be enough.

After an hour or so, Freddie reluctantly returned to her room and took a cool shower. Her sunscreen from that morning seemed to have held up. She wasn’t sunburned, anyway. When the shower was finished, Freddie she looked around the room and tried to figure out what to do. Her instinct was to do something productive, but Peter had forbidden her from bringing any work on this trip. She did have a few books with her, but she didn’t feel like reading right now. 

It was probably best to do something relaxing, but what? Freddie supposed she could watch something on Netflix, but the only thing in her queue was a documentary on Iranian politics and honestly, she wasn’t in the mood. She clicked around aimlessly for a while, eventually finding , a show that Ben had been bugging her about for weeks..

The next day Freddie impressed herself by sleeping in until nine in the morning. She begged off of group activities, deciding that she didn’t want a repeat of the previous day. She was partway through her fourth episode that day (it turned out Ben had been right about the show) when her phone rang.

Freddie paused the video to check her caller ID. Shit, it was Petruchio. Her heart rate sped up as she mentally prepared for whatever it was they were about to fight about. She considered just not picking up, since International fees were the last thing she wanted to deal with. In the end, she answered after deciding that the call was definitely work related. “Hello?”

“Not trying to start a conversation here, don’t worry. That Katherine girl who works with you is sick, we need you to come in. She’s doing some sort of project? It’s apparently important.” 

“Um, no?” Freddie winced as she heard the uncertainty in her tone. 

“No offense, but that wasn’t really a question. Look, blame Kate, all right? That’s what I always do. It’s not my fault that we’re short-staffed during your time off.”

If they’d been speaking face to face, Freddie would have given him her death glare. She tried again, putting as much authority into her tone as possible. “When I said I couldn’t come in, I meant that it is not physically possible for me to come to work. I’m out of the country right now. I’m low on international minutes so I’d appreciate if you didn’t call again.”

“Babe, chill out. I just figured you’d be happy to come in, since you’re always around. No need to throw a fit about it.”

This was not the first time Freddie had wanted to punch Petruchio, but it was the first time that there was an entire ocean between the two of them so that there was no need to physically restrain herself from doing it. “Call Olivia or someone, okay? And leave me out of it. I’m on holiday.” She hung up the phone. It felt good. Really, she ought to hang up on people more often.

As the day went on, however, Freddie found herself getting more and more anxious. Avoiding Meg was stressful on its own, and now she also had to worry that Petruchio was going to make work miserable for her when she got back. She thought she was doing a decent job of hiding her feelings, but judging by the looks Peter gave her during dinner she hadn’t quite managed.

When they were all getting up from the table, Peter pulled her aside.

“Are you okay?” he asked. “Because no offense, but you’re looking really not chill right now.”

Freddie crossed her arms. “This isn’t uni,” she told him. “I can take care of myself.”

Peter just looked at her. “Freddie, you’ve been on the verge of a breakdown all week. And before you go telling me that I don’t know what I’m talking about, remember that I was there during finals senior year.”

“Well, there’s nothing I can do about how not-chill I am right now, so you’re going to just have to deal with it, aren’t you?” 

“You can take a night off from worrying about it and get a drink with me,” Peter said. “I could use a break from all the group bonding, honestly.” 

Freddie stopped to think about this. A night out drinking sounded—surprisingly good, actually. “You buying, Donaldson?” She’d say yes either way, but Peter could be a pushover if you knew what buttons to press.

Peter took a moment to think about this. “All right, I’ll buy your drinks, but only if you have shitty beer with me instead of that fancy shit you like to order.”

“Wine’s not that fancy!”

“It is when we have to go to bars with restaurants attached so that you can be sure they have the sort you like to drink,” Peter said. Which, okay, was maybe a fair point. _Maybe._

Freddie nodded. “All right. Shitty beer it is, then.”

Peter clapped her on the shoulder like they were teammates or something equally horrifying to consider. “It’ll be fun. I promise.”

They made their excuses to the others and left, ending up at a bar a few blocks from the hotel. The counter seemed sticky, but that didn’t stop Peter from resting his elbows on it. Freddie sat next to him and tried to avoid touching anything. Peter ordered for both of them, assuring Freddie that their beers would come in bottles and not whatever disgusting glasses this place might have.

Spending time with Peter actually helped her mood, which Freddie really shouldn’t have been surprised by after all these years. A few drinks in, he looked at her thoughtfully, as though he wanted to ask something but wasn’t sure he should.

Freddie rolled her eyes. “Whatever it is, just ask already.”

“You sure? It’s about the wedding you’re trying to pretend didn’t happen.”

“Just do it.” 

Peter took a while to formulate his question. “I guess it’s that I keep thinking about what you said about your reasons for marrying Meg. The spontaneous thing, I mean. Did what I said really bother you that much?”

“Well, yes,” Freddie admitted. She stared into her beer, wondering if she could stomach another one. The bitterness was starting to get to her, but if she stopped drinking now Peter would win. She took another sip.

“Why?”

“What do you mean, why?”

“Well, it’s not like spontaneity is something you particularly value,” Peter said, shaking his head. “Remember all those times I missed flat meetings because Costa wanted to do spontaneous improve all over Wellington? I think you threatened to kick me out of the flat once.”

“Twice,” Freddie said. “The second was that time you stayed out all night in the garden making fake blood and then managed to get it all over the back wall, remember?”

Peter laughed. “Yeah, but you were already tense that week because you were so mad at Ben for taking time off and leaving us mid-lease.”

“True.”

“You know, you still haven’t answered,” Peter said. 

“I guess it’s—” Freddie couldn’t come up with the words for what she wanted to say. “Just because I don’t value spontaneous decisions doesn’t mean that other people don’t,” she finally told him. “I’m tired of people always asking what I did with my weekend, and then pretending they aren’t looking down on me when I don’t have anything exciting to share.” She took another large sip of beer, then glared at the bottle.

“Yeah, but it’s not like you’re going to share this, is it? I mean, I can’t see you going into work and telling everyone you got married on your holiday.”

“I wasn’t thinking that far ahead,” Freddie said. The words wouldn’t stop spilling out of her mouth. What was this thing inside of her, this need to justify herself as if she had no idea how much it would hurt? “I just wanted something new to happen. I didn’t want to get to twenty-six without having done anything.” There were so many things in life, so many chances she never took. So she’d wanted to take one, just once. What was wrong with that? 

Peter shook his head firmly. “There’s no way it was that straightforward. Like, you didn’t just sit down and think, ‘I’d like to have done something interesting by the time I’m twenty-six. Oh, I know, I’ll get married.’”

“Not exactly,” Freddie admitted. She realized that one of her hands was touching the counter, had been for who knows how long. She pulled it away at once, hoping that whatever the sticky substance was wasn’t all over her now.

“Then what was it? Come on, you can tell me.”

Freddie looked down at her hand, flexing it as the ring on her finger sparkled in the dim light of the bar. “Don’t you dare laugh, okay? It’s just that there was—I don’t know, moonlight, okay? And then we started dancing and I just went with the emotions without thinking things through.”

“I wasn’t going to laugh,” Peter said, holding up his hands defensively. “Actually, I think that’s the most sensible thing you’ve said all night.”

“You do?”

Peter nodded. “Trust me, I get it. I don’t know why I didn’t think of that before. I guess it’s because you’re so serious sometimes that we forget that you sometimes get swept away in the romance of a moment too.”

“I do not!”

Peter laughed. “Yeah, you do. Anyway, it’s not like it’s a bad thing. Honestly I’d rather hear you say you got married because of how perfect everything seemed in the moment than listen to try to make it into some sort of logical decision. That’s not how life works Sometimes you just have to try things out and see how they go.”

Freddie swallowed hard. She took a large sip of beer to cover up for it. “You know what?” she asked. “I wish I was more like you. _Your_ stupid choices always seem to work out pretty well. Why can’t mine ever be like that?”

“Literally what are you talking about?” Peter asked. “Do you even remember all of that shit with John? Stupid choices didn’t go very well for me there, did they?”

“Oh. Right.” Freddie looked down. “But you managed to fix things with him, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, but you’re trying to make it sound like it wasn’t hard and that’s not true. Just because it’s okay now doesn’t mean I wasn’t really fucked up over it for a while.”

“I know,” she said. “But those aren’t the choices I was talking about. I just mean you always go out an party and—I don’t know, you don’t freak out too much about things! But the _one time_ I try to do that I make the stupid choice to get married to someone I’ve barely met!”

“You know, you still haven’t told me why it’s stupid. I mean, you obviously think it is, but why?”

“What?”

“I mean, everyone else has said why they think it’s stupid. But I don’t know why _you_ think that.”

Freddie crossed her arms. “Is this some kind of trick question, Peter Donaldson?”

“You’re not answering.”

“I don’t have to. As you so correctly pointed out, everyone else already has.”

Peter shook his head. “You’ve never once agreed with something just because everyone else says it’s true. Either you have a reason for thinking it was a bad choice or you’re lying to keep the others off your back. I just want to know which it is.”

Freddie didn’t answer. 

“Look, I’m not saying that you’re in love with Meg, or that you have to stay married to her or anything like that,” Peter said, placing a hand on her arm. “I’m saying that if you don’t think it was a bad choice, you don’t have to feel that way just because everyone else does. What you think matters too, all right? This is your situation, not theirs.”

But it wasn’t, no matter what Peter said. Even if Freddie decided not to care what people thought, they were still looking at her and Meg and thinking _something._ “What’s the point?” she asked. “So what if I let myself feel however I want to? It’s not as if it will change the situation.”

“Yeah, but repressing things is shit,” Peter said. “You shouldn’t have to act like you feel a certain way because of the way other people feel about your decisions. You get to own that for yourself.”

“You’re drunk,” Freddie said. 

“Only a little bit. And I’m still right.”

Freddie probably could have argued with that, but decided not to. They ordered more beer and returned to safe topics, like the fact that Peter had managed to successfully ask Balthazar out on a date. By the time the made it back to the hotel, neither of them was strictly sober, and Freddie remembered nights out during uni, how easy it had been in those days not to worry what would happen the next day, and the one after that, and the one after that.

When Freddie woke up the next morning, she began to pack for the flight home. She still had a whole day ahead of her, but it felt good to be preparing for the next thing. Normal. This was what Freddie Kingston did, after all. She planned ahead and she started things in advance so that nothing could leap out and surprise her at the wrong moment.

When Jaquie suggested that they go to a club for their last night, Freddie almost said no, but it didn’t seem fair to abandon the group again when she’d been opting out of activities all week. She’d just stick close to Peter and Ben as much as she could, and if she was lucky maybe she could slip back to the hotel early.

Peter was an excellent person to go clubbing with. He found a table with enough space for them immediately and ordered the first round of drinks for the group. Freddie sat down next to him, prepared to sit here with Peter. Hopefully this would be a hang-out-drinking-with-Freddie night for a him and not a ditch-Freddie-at-the-table-and-go-dance-with-someone night. She could probably handle staying here with just Peter while the others danced. 

She was mentally composing a list of good conversation topics when, out of nowhere, Meg appeared and sat across from her. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

Nobody spoke for several moments, and Peter showed no signs that he would try to smooth things over like he usually did. Instead, he gave Freddie a look that told her this one was up to her. Which wasn’t a problem. There were plenty of intelligent and interesting things to say in her mind. Any second now, one of them would be forthcoming.

Freddie opened her mouth, figuring that once she started speaking some sort of words would make their way out. But before she could say anything, a man approached Meg and asked her to dance.

“Sure,” Meg said, looking him over and doing that _thing_ with her eyebrows. “Freddie, can you watch my purse?”

Freddie managed to nod. She found herself staring at Meg and the man she was with, watching them move in time to the music. It wasn’t until Peter gave her a pointed look that she realized how tightly she was gripping her glass. 

Several fast songs later, Meg returned to the table and grabbed a water bottle of out her purse. Beads of sweat had formed on her forehead, and she looked pleased with herself.

“So, who was the guy?” Freddie asked, trying and failing to sound casual.

Meg shrugged. “I didn’t catch his name. Hot though, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know. Should we maybe talk about this?” 

Peter sighed loudly and got up from the bar. Bea and Ben tried to get him to dance with them, but he shook his head and went to the side of the room to where Balthazar was standing. The two struck up a conversation at once, seeming perfectly happy to be talking to each other. As though it were easy.

“Talk about what?” Meg ask, draining her water bottle. She pulled her hair up into a bun, ignoring the way it tangled as she twisted it

“It’s just—” Freddie took a moment to sort out her thoughts, distracted by the urge to comb out Meg’s hair with her fingers. “I don’t know if you should be out dancing with men at bars before things between us have been resolved.”

Meg stiffened. “Is that another one of your rules?”

“Well, it makes sense, doesn’t it? It’s not as though we’re pretending not to be married. I mean, you’re still wearing your ring!” She hadn’t meant for her voice to come out sounding accusatory, but it did.

“So are you!”

“Yes, because we’re not divorced yet!”

“Maybe not, but we’re not trying to act like this _means_ anything, are we?” Meg demanded. “So why shouldn’t I get to have fun? If you don’t want to kiss me that’s your choice, but you don’t get to tell me not to go out kissing other people.”

Freddie forgot the argument she’d been carefully mapping out. “Have you?”

“Have I what?” 

“Been kissing other people!”

“Obviously not!” Meg shook her head, and when she spoke again her voice was calmer. “That’s not the point, okay? The point is that if I wanted to, I should be able to because we’re not really married! You’ve made that pretty clear, okay?”

“That’s because I’m trying to think this through logically!” Freddie yelled. Shit, people were starting to stare. 

“You think I don’t know that?”

“I don’t know,” Freddie said. She buried her face in her hands. “I don’t know, okay? It’s just that—we can’t just go around acting like it didn’t happen because we’re about to undo it.”

“Okay,” Meg said quietly. “We’ll stop acting like it didn’t happen. Okay?”

Freddie nodded, suddenly feeling more exhausted than she’d known was possible. “Do you—we should finish this conversation outside, shouldn’t we? I don’t want all of these people knowing our business.”

“Okay.” Meg took ahold of her hand and squeezed it in a comforting gesture. All of the anger seemed to have diffused from the situation as they walked out to the front of the club, then around the block to avoid the people lined up out front.

When they were alone, Meg let go of Freddie’s hand and looked at her. “So, what else did you want to say?”

She hadn’t thought that far ahead. “I don’t know.”

Meg played with the edge of her skirt. All of the confidence her body usually held seemed to have dissipated. “It might help if we both acknowledge the how weird this is.”

“Yeah,” Freddie said. “This isn’t really charted territory for either of us, is it? And it’s not like there’s advice column articles saying what to do when you’ve married someone the first night you met them and are trying to figure out what to do about it.”

Meg laughed. “You looked for one, didn’t you? Admit it.”

“I was trying to assess the situation properly! But there’s not anything. I even tried searching Vegas Wedding, but all I could find was that stupid episode of _Friends._ ”

“That is a stupid episode,” Meg said. “Ross doesn’t deserve Rachel at all.”

Freddie took a deep breath. “Okay. So what we’re saying is this is weird, and it’s weird for both of us and we don’t really know how to behave, so it’s probably not particularly helpful for me to get mad at you about how you’re handling it. So I’m sorry.”

“Thank you,” Meg said. She smiled softly. “I’m sorry for not considering your feelings when I danced with that guy.”

Somehow, their hands ended up twining together. Freddie looked down, wondering if the rational choices was to separate them. It seemed unfair, when they fit together so well. Maybe she _was_ suppressing her emotions, like Peter had said. But then, what would happen if she let the walls down and put her emotions in charge? What if she couldn’t stop.

Freddie looked up and found herself staring into Meg’s eyes. Her heart beat even harder. It felt like she might drown in it if she didn’t do something, so she moved her other hand slowly upward, until it was touching Meg’s neck. Somehow, her body had taken the driver’s seat, and her brain wasn’t posing any particularly compelling arguments, especially not when Meg let go of her hand to wrap her arms around Freddie’s waist. For a long moment they stood there, holding each other, until Freddie couldn’t tell who’s heartbeat it was she was feeling. Why didn’t Meg kiss her? They were so close, it could happen at any moment.

Rational thought was a thousand miles away as Freddie buried her other hand in Meg’s hair and leaned in. The kiss was full of a week’s worth of pent-up emotions, all of her confusion and frustration and doubt. It would have felt like too much, except that there were strong arms holding her upright and for that moment, she didn’t have to think at all.

When they broke apart, Freddie kept careful eye contact. She had a million question, but waited for Meg to speak first.

“So are we doing this?” Meg asked. “Or are you about to freak out on me again?”

Freddie took a moment to think. “It doesn’t feel like I’m freaking out right now.”

“Good.” 

“I mean, we’ll need to talk about it, obviously. I did break the rules we set up, that’s probably not ideal.”

"Can we just not worry about? At least for tonight," Meg said. "I mean, I know you're going to get back to the hotel and over-analyze it but at least we can do ourselves the favor of not having a _conversation_ about it right away.”

“All right.” She could stop freaking out about things without making stupid choices. Other people managed it all the time, right? Right. So the plan was not to have a plan plan, just to get through tonight without anything going wrong, and maybe tomorrow they’d be able to talk about things and maybe they wouldn’t and she just had to be okay with that.

Freddie didn’t feel like dancing or drinking, so she made her goodbyes and left the club early. Since she was already packed, the only thing she could think to do was get into bed. But sleep evaded her, and a few hours later, she was still awake to hear the knock on her door.

“Who is it?” she asked, sitting up in bed.

The door cracked open. “Hi,” Meg whispered. “Sorry, the door was unlocked.”

“Oh.” This probably should have worried her more, since leaving the door unlocked wasn’t particularly safe, but all Freddie could think about was the fact that Meg was here, in her room.

“Can I come in?” 

“Of course.”

Meg closed the door and walked across the room, the sound of her feet muffled by the carpet. She sat down next to Freddie on the bed, tucking her legs under the blanket.

“Should I turn the light on?” Freddie asked. For some reason, her voice came out as a whisper, like they were twelve-year olds at a slumber party who didn’t want to wake up their parents.

“You don’t have to. I’m not here to talk, or whatever. I just didn’t want to be alone tonight.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll go back to my room in a little while, I promise. It’s just that I needed to be with another person for a little while and I know you won’t quiz me about our relationship like Bea or Hero would.”

“What about Balthazar? He doesn’t seem like the quizzing type.”

“He and Peter still aren’t back from the club, I don’t think. I can back with Hero and Jaquie, I don’t know what the others are doing. Anyway, I know things have been weird this week but I feel like you’re someone I can hang out with without having to talk.”

The dark helped, somehow, and Freddie found herself more able to talk than she had this entire week. “That’s probably my fault. That everything’s weird, I mean. I had this idea that avoiding you would help somehow, but that obviously didn’t work. Not that we have to talk right now, or ever, but if you want to we can. Talk, I mean. I don’t want things to stay weird.”

“You know you’re kind of rambling, right?”

“Yes.”

For a long time after that, they really didn’t talk. Sometimes silences made Freddie anxious, but this one felt okay to her. She could feel the warmth of Meg’s body next to her own, and found herself matching her breaths to Meg’s slow, calm ones. She was much closer to falling asleep than she had been before Meg arrived. Maybe this would would help.

“Meg?” Freddie asked. Her heart was hammering so hard that for a moment, she wondered if her ribs would crack. “You don’t have to go back to your room. Tonight, I mean, you have to go back tomorrow to finish packing obviously. But what I mean is—if you want to sleep in here, that’s okay with me.”

Meg turned her head to look at her. “Are you sure? Because I can go back if you want me to.”

“I want you to stay,” Freddie said, voice barely above a whisper. 

“Doesn’t that break some sort of rule for an almost divorced couple?”

Freddie shrugged, as though by keeping her gestures casual she could lower the stakes somehow. “We didn’t follow the rules of getting married very well,” she said. “Maybe it was stupid to try to set rules for this situation.”

Meg’s face did something that made Freddie’s stomach drop. “If we’re not doing the rule thing anymore,” she asked carefully. “Would it be okay if I kissed you again?”

“Yes,” Freddie said at once, then blushed at how eager she sounded. 

The sound of Meg’s soft laughter filled her ears, and then there were arms around Freddie’s neck, holding her, and they were kissing again. It was perfect. It shouldn’t have been perfect, but it was, and Freddie almost resented this, resented that she could feel this good about something that was ending so soon.

When they separated, Meg turned around so that her back was to Freddie. “If you don’t spoon me right now I’m divorcing you,” she said. 

“You’re already divorcing me.”

“Well, I’ll divorce you sooner. And I’ll ask for a better alimony or something.”

“We weren’t married long enough for alimony,” Freddie said, but she let her arm settle around Meg’s waist. It was enough to make her dizzy, the smell of hotel shampoo in Meg’s hair and the feeling of being that close to someone. It made her feel insignificant.

It made her feel as though she could finally breathe again.

She was on the verge of falling asleep when Meg’s voice brought her back.

“Freddie?”

“Yeah?”

“What if we didn’t do it?”

“Do what?” Freddie asked. She let her lips brush against the skin against Meg’s neck as she spoke. This would have been breaking the rules, if they existed. If a situation like this could really handle something as constructed as rules.

Meg’s voice shook as she whispered, “What if we didn’t get divorced?” 

It took several second for Freddie to remember to breathe. “Well, what would we do instead?”

“I don’t know.” Her fingers stroked Freddie’s in a gesture that made it impossible to think. “So?”

Freddie took a deep breath before she said, “Yeah, okay.” She slid her hand into Meg’s and held on tight, hoping this would be enough to keep her afloat against the tide of whatever came next.


	4. Bears it Out

The alarm was beeping shrilly. Apparently, Freddie didn’t understand the concept of jet-lag. It was only one day after their return to Wellington and she’d decided she wanted to go into work, which meant having the alarm clock go off at the hideous hour of seven. As in, a.m. It had been going off for almost a minute now, and Freddie showed no signs of actually getting up and going about her day, which really went against the whole point of having an alarm to begin with. 

Meg groaned and pulled her pillow over her head. “Can you turn that damn thing off?” 

Finally, Freddie rolled over and hit the button at the top of the alarm clock. “Sorry,” she whispered, before getting up and padding across the room. Meg could hear her digging clothes out of her dresser before she went into the bathroom and turned the shower on.

It should have been easy to get back to sleep, but it wasn’t. Meg wrapped herself up in a cocoon of blankets, which would have worked at her own flat but did nothing here. She’d never been good at sleeping in new places.

Eventually she gave up went into the kitchen, deciding that if she had to be up this early they might as well eat breakfast together. But when she got there, Freddie was already washing her dishes in the sink.

“How did you eat that fast?” Meg demanded, sitting down on one of the kitchen chairs.

“I’m running late,” Freddie said. She shrugged apologetically, looking as though she weren’t quite sure what to do with her body. “Anyway, I’ve got to head to work. Are you going to be all right here on your own?”

“I think I can manage that, yeah.” 

“Good. I’ll see you tonight, then.” Freddie started towards the door, then abruptly turned around to plant an awkward kiss on Meg’s forehead before running out of the flat.

Meg looked around the kitchen and tried to figure out what to eat. There were a few boxes of cereal in one of the cupboards, but nothing that looked appealing. She turned to the fridge, then stopped short of opening it to look at the list of rules they’d written on the plane, which was held up by a magnet. It included everything from “We’ll live at Freddie’s place because she works at a physical location and doesn’t want to change her commute” to “We will never buy a flamingo lawn ornament no matter how much Benedick pressures us.” Meg was keeping her own flat until the lease was up as per their agreement, but they’d decided that living together was better if they wanted to take this seriously, and that, apparently, meant Rules. 

She looked at the list for a long moment, the yanked open the refrigerator door. In the end, Meg ended up making scrambled eggs and orange juice, which involved finding both a frying pan and cooking spray. She was feeling pretty good about how well she was doing, and decided to celebrate by watching a few episodes of Faking It before starting on her work.

By lunchtime Meg had made it through three episodes, so she decided that after she ate she needed to get started on one of her articles. She got together a sandwich and ate it slowly, looking out of the kitchen window and city-gazing. The view was nice, but there was something painful about it too, something that made her want to run away until she was someplace where nobody knew her name. 

She cleaned her dishes and sat down on the couch to work on her article. She managed to get a few lines written before finding herself on Facebook and Twitter. This process repeated itself several times, and after half an hour Meg decided the best thing to do would be to get up and have a snack. The hummus in Freddie’s fridge was the wrong brand, but she tried to ignore this. When they went shopping together this weekend she could get the kind with the bell pepper in it, but for now this would do.

After her snack, Meg sat back down on the couch with her laptop and tried again. The article was one she’d requested to write. It should have been easy but the words wouldn’t flow, not even when she put on her Serious Writing playlist. Maybe it was the couch, which was stiffer than the one at her flat. She moved to the table and managed to write half a paragraph, which she promptly deleted because it made absolutely no sense.

An hour and a single paragraph later, Meg admitted defeat. It was too quiet to work here anyway. She could get the article done just as easily at Boyet’s. It wasn’t like there was a rule saying that she had to work in the flat, was there?

It took longer to get to Boyet’s here than from her own flat, and Meg had barely sat down with her drink when she got a text from Bea.

_Can we talk?_

_Sure. @ Boyet now if you’re free?_ Meg typed back.

_Be there in 10._

Meg pulled out her computer and tried to get at least _something_ done, but by the time Bea slid into the seat across from her she had only written three sentences. Meg put her computer back in its bag, glad for the excuse to not stare at it any longer.

“What’s up?” she asked.

“Just wanted to talk, I guess. So, um, Peter said you’re staying married,” Bea said.

“Yeah.” That had been Freddie’s idea, designating Peter the marriage-explainer so they wouldn’t have to rehash the same conversations again. Meg hoped that she and Bea weren’t about to have another fight, but it didn’t seem likely. Bea looked more frazzled than angry.

Bea nodded. “I think that’s good. It’s good you’re at least trying, anyway. It’s a responsible way to handle things.”

“Right,” Meg said. The word _responsible_ lodged its way between her ribs, but she didn’t say _screw responsibility._ She didn’t say _I’m never going to be the kind of adult you and Hero want me to be._ Instead, she took a sip of coffee and ignored the way it made her heart beat faster.

“Anyway, that actually wasn’t why I asked you to talk,” Bea said. “Or actually, it’s part of it, but not all of it. I have follow-up questions, or something.” 

“Okay.”

“I was just wondering if you could tell me what it’s like to be married,” Bea said, turning a bit pink. “You’re the only person I know who’s been married, besides like, my parents and other old people.” 

Meg subtly glanced around the coffee shop, hoping that nobody she knew was there. She didn’t recognize anyone. “Yeah, but I got married in Las Vegas to someone I’d known for less than twelve hours. Are you sure I’m who you want to go to for advice?”

“I’m not asking for advice, I just want to know what it’s like,” Bea said. A strand of hair was threatening to fall out of her ponytail. “Like, when you woke up the next morning, how did you feel?”

“I felt exactly the same. Bea, what’s going on?”

Bea looked down. “It’s nothing, I just—I want to know for sure that it’s going to work out. Forever is a really long time, you know?”

Meg knew, all right. “Look, I don’t even know if I’m still going to be married two weeks from now,” she said. “I think you just have to dive in and do what you can to make it work.”

“Is that what you’re doing?”

“Of course.”

“Good,” Bea said, looking at her seriously. “You have to give this whole marriage thing a fair shot, okay? I want you to be happy, and it would really suck to see you getting in the way of that for yourself.”

“Hero said something like that too. Why are you two so worried about me? I’m fine.”

There was a long pause “You know, sometimes I really wished I’d punched Robbie in the face when I had the chance,” Bea finally said.

Meg tried to hide the way her hand clenched around her mug at the mention of Robbie. “You know that was like, five years ago, right? We broke up right before I left school in Year Thirteen.”

Bea’s expression was fierce. “But you’re not over it!”

The key here was not to cry. She didn’t care. She _didn’t._ “Look, you know I love it when you get all protective and shit, but there wasn’t anything you could have done. Anyway, this doesn’t have anything to do with me and Freddie.”

“Does _she_ know about—”

“No.”

“Oh.” Bea seemed to deflate a bit. “Do you think you’ll tell her?”

Meg had to resist the urge to bury her face in her hands. “Honestly, I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

Bea walked around the table and leaned over to wrap her arms around Meg. “Well, when you do get things figured out you should let me know. You guys can double date with me and Ben and be all disgusting. It’ll be fun.”

Meg laughed. She hugged back, almost falling out of her chair. “Thank you. Hey, any chance you can help me decide what to say in this article?” she asked. “I have nothing original to say.”

“What’s the topic?” Bea asked as she sat back down. 

“The Bury Your Gays trope. It’s important, I just feel like it’s all been said before. And there’s only so many times journalists can say ‘just watch _But I’m a Cheerleader_ and hope it gets better.”

“Talk about Hero’s movie” Bea suggested. “I know it’s an indie film, but she doesn’t kill any of her gay characters so it’s a great example of the fact that literally all writers have to do is stop killing them. And you’ll know you’re crediting someone who really deserves it.”

“Actually, that could work,” Meg said thoughtfully. She jotted it down on her napkin. “Okay, I’ll do it. Do you think she has time to do an interview? That would make this article stand out.”

“I bet she would. You should ask her,” Bea said. 

They talked about the possibilities for a while longer, and Meg found herself able to outline the bulk of her interview questions. Boyet’s was comfortingly familiar, especially when Balthazar appeared behind the bar for his shift and waved at them.

“I should probably head out,” Bea said after a while. “I had no idea how stressful planning a wedding would be. Ben has finally picked a bird for the top of the cake, so we’re calling all over town to see who can get us a custom cake topper on such short notice. We finally found one but I have to go in today or it won’t be done in time.”

“Go ahead,” Meg said. “I’m going to go back to Freddie’s and try to get some work done.”

She went back to the flat, but didn’t work.. The article wasn’t due for another week or so anyway, and Meg didn’t believe in getting far enough ahead on anything that she’d be asked to do extra. She wandered around the flat aimlessly for a while, and eventually ended up in the kitchen staring into the fridge. Last night, Freddie had cooked dinner for both of them, so it made sense to return the favor. 

When Freddie stepped into the flat an hour later, Meg was busy stirring the vegetables. 

“Are you cooking something?”

“Stir fry,” Meg said, feeling proud of herself. “It’s almost ready. I made enough for both of us.”

“You are official the best person I’ve interacted with today,” Freddie said, sitting down heavily on a chair. 

Meg smiled. She brought the food over to the table, along with a bottle of wine she’d managed to find while going through the cupboards. “Okay if we open this?”

“Definitely,” Freddie said. “If this is going to feel like your flat too you need to be comfortable using things in the flat, right? So I’ll just let you know if anything is off-limits or on hold for something. Everything else should be fair game.”

“Thanks.” Meg went back to the cupboard and managed to locate two glasses that weren’t mugs. She was almost thwarted by the bottle, which wasn’t a twist-off as she’d expected, but Freddie got up and found her a corkscrew. They sat down across the table from each other. Meg felt like she was in a sitcom or something.

“How was your day?” Freddie asked, digging into her food.

“It was fine.” Meg took a sip of wine. “What about you, how was work?”

“Work was work,” Freddie said. She sighed. “On the bright side, Petruchio and Katherine got into a huge argument and Katherine spilled water all over him. She said it was an accident. Petruchio was furious.”

“Is that the only interesting part of working for our esteemed labour party? I should write a strongly worded article about how they treat their workers.”

Freddie flushed. “Of course not. I just meant that this part was a bit more out of the ordinary than anything else that happened today.”

Meg bit her lip, then reached out and squeezed Freddie’s hand. “It’s okay, I was joking. I’m sure that some days are boring even when you work for the government. Probably _especially_ when you work for the government.”

“What about you? Did you do anything interesting?”

Meg pulled her hand away, feeling silly just holding it. “I got coffee with Bea. She says hi.”

“Oh, that’s nice!”

The conversation continued in the same way, small talk punctuated by long silences. After dinner, Freddie offered to wash up, so it only seemed fair that Meg offer to dry. They were almost finished when Freddie spoke.

“So, I was thinking,” she said. “Would you want to maybe come to dinner with my family so that my parents can meet you?”

Meg almost dropped the plate she was drying. “You want me to meet your _parents?_ ”

“Well, they’re going to find out we got married eventually, aren’t they?” Freddie said. She scrubbed vigorously at a piece of food that was stuck to a plate. “It’s not that I love the idea of talking to them about this, but I’d rather have them find out on our own terms than hear it some other way.”

This was not as aspect of staying married that Meg had considered. “You’re going to tell them about before you bring me over, right?” she asked. “Because that is not a conversation I want to be a part of.”

“I’ll tell them first. I just have to decide how much to tell them. For example, they probably shouldn’t know that we’ve only known each other for ten days.”

“Right. That makes sense.” Meg took a few deep breaths, hoping that Freddie couldn’t hear how ragged they were.

“What about your family? Do you know what you’ll tell them?”

Meg looked out the window. “Probably nothing. Not until we’re sure we’ll stick it out.”

“Yeah, I’d thought about doing that myself,” Freddie said. “But the longer I wait the angrier they’ll be with me, so it seemed best to just get it over with. If we do end up getting a divorce I’ll come up with something to tell them, but I wait six months before saying anything they’ll be furious.”

Meg finished the last dish and dried her hands. “I can come to dinner with them,” she said. “Just tell me which parts I need to lie about.”

“I will,” Freddie said. “Don’t worry, I’ll take notes when I talk to them tonight so I don’t forget anything. And I can practice with you if you need me to. I understand this is a big favor you’re doing for me, I definitely want to make it as easy on you as possible.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

“Thank _you,_ ” Freddie said. She kissed Meg on the cheek and left the room to make her call.

Meg put the dishes into what she hoped were the same places they’d come from, trying not to think about what she’d just agreed to. When she finished, she stepped outside and called Bea. It went to voicemail, so she hung up and dialed again.

Bea picked up on the third ring. “Hey, is everything okay?”

“I’m actually kind of freaking out right now,” Meg said. “Freddie wants me to do dinner with her parents.”

“Oh. I mean, I guess that makes sense though, right? Most people meet their partner’s parents at some point.”

“I get why she wants to do it, it’s just that I am so not a coming home to meet your parents kind of girl.” Meg sat down on the front steps. “So what do I do?”

“Are you trying to get out of it?”

“I already said yes.”

“Good,” Bea said. “In that case, you should talk to her and ask what you need to know to deal with her parents. And tell her you’re worried, she should know that. Communication and emotions are both disgusting, but I’ve learned from my relationship with Ben that talking really helps.”

“Right.” Meg took a shaky breath. “Right, I should just talk to her. Anyway, she’s talking me through things so I’ll know what to say. It should be okay.”

“What about your parents? Have you told them?”

If they’d been talking face to face, Meg would have glared “What do you think?”

“Remind me how long you’re planning to freeze them out for?”

Meg sighed. “Bea, you of all people should not be lecturing me about holding a grudge.”

There was laughter on the other end of the line. “Okay, I probably deserved that.”

“Anyway, I should probably go talk to her like you said.”

“Good luck! I’m going to go back to fighting with Ben about Harry Potter. He thinks that Neville should have been a Hufflepuff, can you _believe_ that?”

Meg laughed and hung up the phone. She went back into the flat and sat on the couch, waiting for Freddie to come out of her room so they could talk. It wasn’t until she heard Freddie arguing loudly that she realized it could be a while. Staying where she could hear felt too much intruding on a private conversation, but Meg obviously couldn’t go into the bedroom either. She put on her headphones and blasted music, loudly enough that she couldn’t hear a word.

Half an hour later, Freddie came out of her room. Meg took off her headphones and looked at her. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Freddie said. She ran a hand through her hair, looking frazzled. “I just got off the phone with my parents. Is Friday okay?”

Meg thought through her plans for the week to make sure it would work. “That’s the night before Bea and Ben’s rehearsal dinner, right?”

“Yes. My parents are busy during the week, and we have the rehearsal and the wedding this weekend, so Friday just seemed like the simplest option. I hope that’s all right.”

“It’s fine,” Meg said. “Friday works for me.”

“Excellent. Okay, so here’s the idea,” Freddie said. She sat down on the couch outlined what they would say, including everything from how they met to thinks Freddie’s parents might expect them to know about each other. Meg felt like she was back in school cramming for a test.

“I think that’s it,” Freddie said at last. “Is there anything else you think we should talk about?”

Meg thought back to her conversation with Bea. She opened her mouth, then looked at Freddie, who looked absolutely exhausted. “No,” she told her. “Nothing I can think of anyway.”

Freddie smiled tiredly. “Thanks. I think I’m going to try to get some work done before bed.”

“I’ll be there in a few minutes,” Meg promised.

The next day, Meg slept through Freddie’s early alarm and actually managed to get some of her article written. To reward herself, she decided to watch some TV that afternoon, and found herself flipping through channels until she settled on Don’t Tell the Bride. She’d only caught this show a few times before, but she loved how ridiculous it was. The men had to plan their weddings without talking any of the details through with their fiancés, which was always a shitstorm because it turned out that a lot of these men knew absolutely nothing about their girlfriends. She and Freddie had done better, and they’d only known each other for a few hours. 

Well, they’d _planned_ to do better, anyway. With a pang, Meg suddenly thought of the silly ceremony they had planned, with _Girls Like Girls_ playing on repeat at the reception and Freddie in a green dress. It was a beautiful wedding, but it wasn’t the one they’d had.  
If she were on Don’t Tell the Bride, what would Meg plan? 

Meg tried just focus on the weddings on the show, but her mind kept wandering back to this daydream. They could get married somewhere outdoors, maybe somewhere they both wanted to travel or maybe someplace more local. It wouldn’t be too over the top, either; just a few of their closest friends and relatives. They could do all of the things they’d planned in Las Vegas, and they’d have one of those cake toppers with two brides on it just because Meg had always wanted one. She tried to picture a priest for this imagined ceremony, but the only one she could think of was the one who’d married them in Vegas and she didn’t want the two weddings to get confused in her mind. Finally, she decided that Bea or Hero could get ordained online and perform the wedding themselves. 

Meg got so caught up in her thoughts that she almost didn’t hear the door open. A moment later, Freddie flopped down on the couch next to her and stared at the TV. They watched together for ten minutes before Freddie groaned and looked away.

“Turn it off,” she said. “I can’t deal with straight people right now.”

Meg laughed and turned off the TV, feeling a pang as she abandoned her fantasy for the real world. “Rough day at work?”

Freddie nodded several times. “I always forget how hard it is to be queer until I have to discuss public policy with straight people.”

“Yeah, I get that at the magazine sometimes when I have to go in. Not that we’re discussing policy most of the time, but other things come up.” 

“It’s the worst.” Freddie leaned her head on Meg’s shoulder. 

“Want me to come in with you tomorrow and kick some asses?” Meg asked. She wrapped an arm around Freddie. Her chest suddenly felt tight, but she tried to ignore it. “Nobody gets to make my wife feel bad.”

“That’s okay.”

Meg stroked Freddie’s hair. Her emotions were threatening to overwhelm her. There was something wrong with this closeness, something terrifying. _Freddie’s not him,_ Meg reminded herself. She wanted to let go and run. She wanted to hold Freddie even closer.

She kept stroking Freddie’s hair.

“Dinner’s tomorrow, isn’t it?” she asked.

“Yeah.” Freddie turned to look at her. “Are you still feeling okay about that?”

“As okay as I can. Anyway, you’re right. We need to spin the story before they find out some other way. And staying married was my idea, so I should at least do this.” 

“Well, thank you.”

“No problem,” Meg said. “Do you want to order pizza or something? I didn’t realize how late it was getting, I should have cooked something.”

“Pizza sounds great,” Freddie said. “Mushrooms okay?”

“Sure.”

Freddie got up to order the pizza. Meg looked back at the TV, wondering how the episode had ended. She’d started to care about the stupid wedding. She wanted to know how the woman would feel about her fiancé’s choices, if she loved him enough that it didn’t matter how silly the marriage was. She wanted to know it’d all turn out okay.

Neither Freddie nor Meg owned a car, so the next night they took a cab to Freddie’s parents’ house. Meg had changed her outfit four times, and was currently wearing the black skirt and button-up that she wore for job interviews. Freddie was dressed nicer than usual, wearing a dress that hit her knees.

The house was in a nice part of Wellington. When they reached the door, Freddie stepped forward and knocked firmly. Meg went through everything she needed to know in her mind. Her heart clenched at the thought that she might forget something important. 

The door swung open, and Freddie’s mum stood in front of them. She looked a lot like her daughter, but with blonde hair which was swept up into a neat bun. Meg couldn’t picture _her_ wearing overalls of any sort.”

“Oh, good, you’re here. You must be Meg,” she said. “I’m Virginia.” She reached out and shook Meg’s hand. “Come in, dinner’s almost ready.”

Meg followed Freddie and her mother into a nicely-decorated living room. She sat next to Freddie on the couch, holding her hand a little too tightly. Virginia sat across from them in a beige armchair.

Freddie’s dad appeared, coming in through a door that Meg assumed led to the kitchen.. “Dinner’s almost ready,” he said. “Freddie said you liked macaroni.”

“You mentioned it when we were in Las Vegas, remember?” Freddie said quickly, looking to her for reassurance. 

Meg didn’t need the reminder. Every detail of that night was seared into her brain, probably forever. She put on her best smile and turned back to Freddie’s dad. “That sounds perfect, thank you.”

“I should have introduced himself,” he said. “I’m George.”

They shook hands, and George took a seat. 

“So, Meg, what do you do?” Freddie’s mother asked politely.

“I write for a magazine,” Meg told her. This whole situation felt awful, like she was a teenager trying to play it cool in front of the grown-ups when she was really planning to go out and party later. She wondered if she’d ever outgrow the feeling of being sixteen and not knowing what to do with her body. 

“She’s really talented,” Freddie said quickly. “You should see the sort of thing she writes, mother. She works with real issues like gender and sexuality, not just the usual tabloid fluff.”

Meg managed a smile, biting back the words _what’s so bad about tabloid fluff?_ because somehow, she knew now wasn’t the time. “I really enjoy working there,” she said instead. “It’s nice to write things and know that people will read it. The writing feels much fresher than academic writing.”

Freddie’s eyes widened, and Meg could feel her stiffen next to her. She wondered if this meant that they were sitting too close together, but it seemed like a bad idea to chance positions now.

“What do believe are the issues with academic writing, Meg?” George asked, raising his eyebrows. “I’ve always found it rather useful, myself.”

“I just mean that not everyone can sit down and read an academic article, but anyone can read a magazine article.”

Virginia jumped in. “Actually, Meg makes a very valuable point,” she said. “Academia is good for people who can participate it, but there need to be ways to get information to the masses regardless of their levels of education.”

“That’s true,” Freddie said, looking adorably earnest. “There’s obviously merits to academic writing as well, but that doesn’t mean that writing for the masses isn’t important.”

“Speaking of academia, where did you go to university, Meg?” Virginia asked.

Meg smoothed out her skirt. “I didn’t go,” she admitted. Freddie looked at her, barely managing to suppress her surprise. “I got offered this really amazing job and I didn’t want to miss out on the opportunity.” She decided to leave out the part about dropping out of Year Thirteen and crashing with Bea and Hero for weeks while she tried to figure out what the hell she was doing.

The oven beeped, sparing Meg from whatever questions were about to come next.

“I’ll go take care of that,” George said, jumping to his feet.

“Well, us girls should probably go sit at the table,” Virginia said. She stood and led the way into the dining room. The table was already set with beautiful plates and silverware. Meg sat down, reminding herself that she hadn’t broken a dish since she was thirteen, or at least, she hadn’t broken one on accident since then.

George came into the room wearing oven mitts and carrying a serving dish. “Careful, it’s hot,” he said as he set it down. “Meg, what would you like to drink? We have water, tea, and a nice cabernet.”

“Just water,” Meg said. 

A glass was placed in front of her, and Virginia served her a large helping of macaroni. They began to eat, finally settling into the sort of small talk that Meg was good at, the kind where she didn’t have to say anything real and the scripted replies could settle around her like a second skin. They chatted about the weather and the food, and Meg even managed to make Virginia and George laugh with her observation about Freddie’s insistence that she could beat jet lag through sheer force of will.

Unfortunately, this led to a conversation about their trip to Vegas. Meg tried to reverse the flow of conversation, but she suspected it might be a losing battle.

Sure enough, they’d been discussing the trip for less than five minutes when George said, “You know, we were so surprised when Freddie told us you’d gotten married. We didn’t even know she had a girlfriend, and then to find out something like this had happened up and out of the blue—well, it was a bit of a shock, I’ll admit it.”

Meg smiled tightly and took a large sip of water. “It was a bit of a surprise for us, too,” she said once she’d swallowed. “But I didn’t want to waste another minute not being married to your daughter.” Shit. This was all wrong. She sounded awful. “I just mean, she’s so amazing. I didn’t want to risk losing her.”

“Are you planning to announce this publically?” Virginia asked, turning to Freddie. “I know that this—that Gay rights, they’re an important issue for you. Have you thought of trying to use this to progress things politically? I’m sure Meg’s magazine could give you some nice publicity.”

Freddie’s fork dropped to her plate with a clatter. She quickly picked it up, looking as though she were attempting to avoid eye contact. “I don’t want my personal life in the public eye, mother. I’ve told you that.”

“Not even for a cause you support?” George asked. “Privacy is one thing, don’t you think this would be a worthwhile reason to give it up? You could do a lot of good.”

“I’ll do good in other ways,” Freddie said.

Meg wished she could reach across the table and hold her hand, but there were too many things in the way. She settled for bumping their feet together. Freddie flashed her a grateful smile.

“I just don’t understand how you can care so much about changing the world but shy away from things that would really help,” Virginia said. “You’ll be running for party leader in a few years, it’s better if this information make it out now so that people start thinking about you as someone who will support LGTBQ individuals.”

“Please drop it, mother,” Freddie said.

“Fine,” Virginia said. She took a few bites of macaroni in silence, then turned to Meg. “Sow, how did your family react when you gave them the news?” 

Meg choked on her water. “Sorry,” she said once she’d stopped coughing. _Calm down,_ she told herself firmly. _You knew the parent questions had to come eventually._ “They were surprised, of course, but they said they support me and my decisions. I brought Freddie over to meet them earlier this week and they adored her, of course.” The lie sat on the surface of her skin, but didn’t penetrate. Anyway, for all she knew, they _would_ have adored Freddie. 

“And they didn’t mind that it was so spur of the moment?”

Across the table, Freddie looked tense. Meg turned to Freddie’s dad and looked him directly in the eye. “Should they have? It’s my life, right?”

Virginia looked at her thoughtfully. “That’s a good way to look at it. It’s nice that your family was able to be so open-minded about the whole thing.”

“It really is,” Freddie said. “I’m glad that _both_ of our parents have accepted this so well.” She made direct eye contact with her parents for the last part. 

Meg pretended to be interested in her macaroni.

“So, how did the two of you meet?” George asked. “It’s funny, Freddie’s been very closed-lipped about the whole thing.”

“I didn’t want to tell you anything until we knew how serious we were,” Freddie said. “But if you must know, it was because of the wedding. You know, Bea and Ben’s? Meg’s the Maid of Honor, we met during the planning sessions and I ended up asking her out for coffee.”

Virginia frowned. “I thought that the planning was very last minute. You were complaining about it a few weeks ago.”

“She was exaggerating,” Meg said, looking up. “You know how Freddie is, she likes to have everything figured out as far in advance as possible. We’ve been meeting for planning sessions for months, but Bea and Ben keep changing their mind and not deciding things and that’s been driving her crazy. Hasn’t it, sweetie?”

Freddie nodded. “It’s awful, mother. You would hate it. Ben can’t make up his mind about anything. Except that he wants the wedding to be bird themed. He knew that part from the start.”

“You know, it’s been a while since we’ve seen Benedick,” George said. “Remind me what he does now?”

“He runs nature programs for kids,” Freddie said. “He takes them all over the area looking for different plants and animals. _And_ he published a very successful Marlowe paper last year. He’s been asked to present it at the university and possibly give a guest lecture.”

“Is he ever planning on finishing school?” Virginia asked. 

“I don’t think so. He’s happy, and he loves his job,” Freddie said. “Besides, I’m not sure he has any reason to at this point.”

Virginia tilted her head thoughtfully. “I suppose not, but I’ve always thought that university was useful, and I think if Benedick went back he’d find he quite liked it. It seems like wasted potential, is all.”

“Well, maybe,” Freddie said, looking unconvinced.

“I don’t think so,” Meg jumped in. “I know I would have hated uni. Freddie’s right. If he’s happy and he likes what he’s doing, who cares if it fits into what other people think is important? There’s not just one way to live your life, is there? We all just have to figure out what works for us.”

“Maybe,” George said. “But there are risks to doing things your own way, too.”

“It’s worth it,” Meg said firmly. “Even if there are drawbacks, or it hurts or whatever, it’s worth at least trying to be happy. I’d rather Ben be working a job he loves without having done college than miserable trying to finish a degree he doesn’t want or need.”

“She’s right,” Freddie said. “We have to do what makes us happy. I don’t want my friends to be miserable trying to live up to someone else’s idea of how life should be.”

Virginia smiled. “George, I think they might have just out-argued us.”

“We’ve raised a stubborn daughter, that’s for sure,” George said. He looked proud. “I think we can let them have this one. After all, we want Meg to feel comfortable coming back, don’t we?”

“I suppose we’ll just have to vow to win the next argument.”

The conversation shifted to Freddie’s job, and then to politics in general. Her face lit up as she talked about the environmental legislations she’d helped write, and she ended up in a heated debate with her father over something that was entirely over Meg’s head. 

When dinner ended, Virginia and George walked them towards the door. On the way out of the dining room, George pulled Meg aside. “I just want you to know that even if the situation wasn’t what we were expecting, Virginia and I are both glad that Freddie has someone like you. You seem like a good team, and that’s important in a marriage.”

“Thank you.” For some reason, Meg had the bizarre urge to correct him, to tell him the marriage had been a mistake. “I’m lucky to have her, too.”

“I’m glad you know that,” George said. He led her back into the living room, where Freddie and Virginia were talking. They stopped when Meg and George approached the door.

“You ready to go?” Freddie asked.

“Yeah.”

Virginia reached out and hugged Meg tightly. “It was nice to meet you,” she said. “I hope we’ll see you again soon.”

“Me too,” Meg said. “Thank you for having me over.” She took Freddie by the hand and waved good-bye as they exited the house.

When the door shut behind them, Freddie squeezed Meg’s hand and turned to look at her. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“Yeah, it seemed to go all right.” She looked at Freddie under the soft glow of the porch light and leaned in for a kiss. It felt elicit, as though at any moment a parent would come out and demand to know why they were breaking curfew. If she and Freddie had known each other during school, they could done this. They could have stayed out all night partying and climbed in each other’s windows. They could have kissed just like this, half-afraid of being caught, and it would have been _perfect._

But they weren’t teenagers. They were married adults, and all of a sudden Meg couldn’t stand the contact. She broke away, hoping that Freddie would understand that it wasn’t about her, it was about Meg and her own fucked-up emotions. The things that had danced across the surface of her skin slipped down underneath it, and she couldn’t decide if she was twenty-four or sixteen, couldn’t figure out which phase of her life she was supposed to be enduring. 

“We should probably head home,” Freddie said, her smile as gentle as the words that went unspoken between them. She laced their fingers together and led the way down the steps, back towards the vast empty space of a flat full of who Meg was now and had never planned to be.


	5. Impediments

The day before the wedding, Freddie found herself awake at five in the morning. She lay in bed for twenty more minutes, then got up and turned off her alarm so that Meg wouldn’t have to wake up until she was ready to. Freddie had planned to sleep in until seven, but she might as well use this time to double-check the seating chart. 

There was a text on her phone Ben that had arrived after she went to sleep that just said _where to get ready before wedding???? forgot to make plans and now there’s nowhere for me to change what to do._

_You can get ready here,_ Freddie typed back. _Tell Peter he’s welcome as well._ Once the text was sent, she went to the kitchen and got to work.

Three hours later, Meg finally emerged in the kitchen. By this point, Freddie been staring at the chart so long that the names were beginning to blur. She looked up as Meg entered.

“Can you help me out with this?” she asked, gesturing at the tiny flags with the names of the guests and accidentally knocking over Hero’s. 

“In a minute,” Meg said, rubbing her eyes. The hem of her t-shirt came up, showing a strip of skin between the shirt and her leggings. “Is there coffee?” 

“Yes.”

Meg walked away and returned to the table with coffee in a cartoon character mug. She leaned over to look at what Freddie was working on. “The seating chart? We went over this yesterday.”

Freddie groaned and buried her face in her hands. “Yes, but it’s still not right! I can move Jaquie to the head table so she’s by Hero, but then I have to kick somebody else off, and there’s nobody I can move. And I don’t understand why Hero’s mums are sitting with Peter’s brother. Have they even met?” 

“Babe, you’re stressing out about nothing,” Meg said calmly. “Jaquie already knows she won’t be at the head table, only the wedding party will be there.” She took a sip of coffee and pointed. “We put Jaquie with Hero’s mums because they want to get to know her, and John’s at that table because Peter asked Jaquie to keep an eye on him. He won’t know anyone at the wedding and Peter didn’t want him to be alone.”

Freddie looked back at the chart. “Oh.” The hours she had just spend on this suddenly seemed ridiculous, the by-product, no doubt, of three cups of coffee that early in the day. “You’re sure nothing else is wrong?”

“If there is, whoever’s seats they are will just have to deal with it,” Meg said firmly. She extended a hand. “We’ve still got an hour before we have to meet the others,” she said. “Do you want to go out for some breakfast? I saw a diner a few blocks away while I was exploring the neighborhood. It’d get us away the seating chart, at any rate.”

“Yeah, that sounds nice,” Freddie said, letting Meg pull her to her feet. Still holding hands, they left the flat and walked to the diner. Once inside, Meg led her to a table near the window.

A middle-aged woman approached them with a notepad in hand. “What would you like to have today?”

“I’d like a bowl of oatmeal, please,” Freddie said, handing over her menu.

“Could I get an order of pancakes?” Meg asked. “Ooh, and a platter of fruit for us to share.”

The woman smiled. “You two are a cute couple. Reminds me of myself at your age.”

Freddie and Meg shared a grin. A few minutes after their food arrived, Meg’s phone chimed. She opened the message. “Sounds like Jaquie’s coming along today,” she said, reading it. “She told Hero she could help with set up.”

“Oh good, that means the second table will be full at the dinner,” Freddie said. “We had were going to have twenty-three people and twenty-four seats, it was driving me crazay.”

The conversation revolved around the wedding from that point on. By the time they paid the check, they only had ten minutes to make it to the church. Freddie texted Ben to let him know they might be late, then called a cab. Traffic was good, and they walked into the building exactly one minute before they’d been expected to arrive.

The morning was filled with minor tasks, which mostly consisted of decorating the chapel and preparing the reception hall. Freddie even consented to putting up the paper chains Ben had insisted on. She’d expected to hate them, but really, they looked quite nice. The gold paper looked much nicer against the dark wood of the walls than she’d have expected.

The reception hall was almost finished when Freddie spotted Peter waving from across the room. He walked towards her quickly. 

“Hey, do you have the rings?” He asked. “We’re starting the rehearsal in an hour. Balthazar’s getting music set up right now.”

_Shit._ “And how is Balthazar?” Freddie asked, reaching her hands into her pockets. She tried to subtly feel around for the rings, but she already knew they weren’t there. She’d been so sure there’d be time to get back to the flat she hadn’t even _thought_ about bringing them to the diner with her. And now she was here, and the rings—well, the rings weren’t. 

Peter’s face broke into a grin. “He’s good. He asked me to go to the wedding with him.”

“But you were both already going to be at the wedding.”

“Yeah, but he asked me to go as his date. I mean, we can’t sit together or anything because I’ll be standing up front with the rest of you and he’ll be on the piano, but we can dance with each other at the reception. It’ll be nice.”

“That is sickeningly cute.”

“Like you and Meg aren’t going to be all over each other,” Peter said, rolling his eyes. “Not that it’s a bad thing. I’m glad that two of you have managed to work things out. Anyway, you’ll make sure Bea and Ben get the rings?”

“I’m on it,” Freddie said. She waited until Peter was gone, then all but ran out of the room. Her chest felt painfully tight, but she made it to the bathroom before bursting into tears. It took a few minutes before she was even close to getting it together. “Shit,” she whispered, burying her face in her hands. She’d had _one_ job. Well, really she’d had quite a few jobs, but this one was one of the most important, and quite frankly should have been the easiest.

The door swung open. Freddie turned her head quickly, about to pretend everything was fine, but stopped when she Meg come through it.

“Hey, is everything okay?” Meg asked, coming towards her and putting a hand on her arm. “Peter said he saw you coming in here.”

“I forgot the rings,” Freddie admitted miserably. An idea hit her. “Wait, do you think you could go back and get them? I know exactly where I left them, I can give you directions. God, I can’t believe I was this stupid.”

Meg squeezed her arm. “It’ll be okay,” she said. 

“Do you think you can get them?” Freddie repeated. “Peter said the rehearsal’s starting in an hour, that should give you enough time to get to the flat and back, right?”

“Why do you need me to do it? Can’t you get back to the flat.”

“I have to be here when the caterers arrive and give them directions,” Freddie said. She wiped her eyes, angry at herself for overreacting this much. “They won’t stick around unless I sign something, since I’m the one who hired them.”

“Well, I can’t go,” Meg said. “A seam ripped in Hero’s dress and I promised I’d help her fix it.”

“So what do we do?” Freddie asked.

Meg ran her fingers through her hair. “I think we could be okay without the rings,” she said. “Today’s just the rehearsal, it’s not as if you forgot them for the real wedding.”

Freddie took a deep breath. “Right. You’re right. We can do the rehearsal without rings. It’ll be okay.”

“Do you want me to tell Bea and Ben?” Meg asked. 

“Would you?”

“Definitely. Want me to text them right now? I’ll tell them how I dragged you out of the flat for breakfast and there wasn’t time to go home.” 

Freddie nodded. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Meg pulled out her phone and quickly sent off the texts. 

“So,” Freddie said, looking at Meg. They were standing closer together than she’d realized. “Was there a reason you were looking for me? That’s why you came in here, right?”

“It was,” Meg said softly. “I just wanted to see how you were doing. You’ve seemed pretty stressed out today, I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Oh.”

“Here, let’s get you cleaned up,” Meg said. She led Freddie to the sink and helped her wash her face. Her hands were warm and soft, and when she moved away, Freddie leaned in to kiss her.

Meg kissed her back, turning their bodies so that Freddie’s back was against the edge of the sink. Her hands cupped Freddie’s cheeks, stroking gently, and Freddie buried her fingers in Meg’s hair. They kissed for a long moment, then separated. Meg’s fingers lingered on Freddie’s cheeks longer than was strictly necessary after they’d parted.

“I should probably go make sure the caterers aren’t wandering around in a state of confusion,” Freddie said. 

She left the bathroom and spent the next hour anxiously awaiting another disaster, but none arose. The caterers arrived when they were scheduled to, and Hero came out ten minutes before the rehearsal with no visible tears in her dress. Even the rehearsal went like clockwork, so much so that both Jaquie and Peter made jokes about the dangers of a good rehearsal.

“If Costa knew about this, he’d say we had to cancel the wedding,” Peter said as they left the chapel. “He’s cancelled first performances after dress rehearsals went less well than this one.”

Jaquie shook her head. “No, if Costa knew about this, he’d be trying to add an improvised dance and six different forms of audience participation while bemoaning how unartistic the modern wedding is.”

Peter laughed. “You’re right,” he conceded. “Costa would say that.”

They entered the reception hall, where food had already been placed on the two tables. “Oh, thank God,” Meg said, sitting down. “I’m starving. Today was exhausting.”

“It was,” Freddie agreed, taking the seat next to Meg. She served herself a hefty amount of pasta salad. “Remind me why I agreed to be the Best Man?”

“You agreed,” Ben said, leaning over across several people. “Because I told you that if you ever got married I would be the best Maid of Honor the world has ever seen. It’s not _my_ fault you went off and eloped.”

“Actually, I think that means your deal doesn’t count anymore,” Meg said, raising an eyebrow. “Sorry, Ben, but you’re going to have to find a new Best Man before tomorrow.”

Maybe it was how tired she was, but this struck Freddie as absolutely hilarious. She burst out laughing. After a moment, Meg joined her.

“Disgusting, aren’t they?” Bea asked cheerfully. “Do you think after tomorrow we’ll like that?”

Ben gave an exaggerated shudder. “Never! We don’t even like each other! In fact, I’m only marrying you because you’d make such an awful cat lady. I’m saving the kittens from a terrible fate.”

Bea crossed her arms. “Oh, really? And it’s nothing to do with the fact that nobody but me was ever going to ask you to marry them?”

Meg rolled her eyes, then turned back to Freddie. “You look really nice, by the way,” she said quietly. “I can’t remember if I’ve said that today.”

Freddie could feel her face going red. She looked around, but everyone was paying too much attention to Bea and Ben’s increasingly weak attempts at being mean to each other to notice her or Meg. “You do too,” she said.

“Are you sure?” Meg asked. “I keep thinking there’s got to be a better way I can do my hair for the wedding. It’s just so _boring._ But I wouldn’t want to upstage Bea.”

Freddie looked at Meg for a moment, examining her hair. She turned to the bouquet in the center of the table and pulled out a lily. “Here,” she said, handing it to Meg. “You can put this in your hair.”

Meg took it, an odd look on her face, then smiled and stuck it behind her ear. “Think it’ll still look nice by tomorrow?”

“Well, there’s only one way to find out, right?”

“Maybe I’ll wear it anyway,” Meg said. “I mean, I don’t know how I can throw it out when it was given to me by my gorgeous wife.”

Freddie laughed, then leaned over to rest her head on Meg’s shoulder. Meg kissed the crown of her head. 

When dinner was finished, the caterers took the dishes back into the kitchen to clean. Freddie offered to break down the chairs and tables so that Bea and Ben could go home.

“That would be lovely, thank you,” Bea said. Her hair was starting to slip out of its bun. “Dickface, let’s go!” she called to Ben. “Freddie says she’ll clean up.”

As the others trickled out, Freddie began to break down chairs and tables. A few moments later, Meg joined her. They worked in silence as the others trickled out the door.

“You know, today was a lot of work, but it’s nice to be doing something different than what I normally spend my time on,” Meg said. “Setting up chairs and bossing people around is a nice break from staring in front of a screen trying to write something worth reading.”

“I agree. I mean, it’s a bit exhausting, but at least I can see the results of what I’m doing. It’s nice to know I can make Bea and Ben’s wedding better. Sometimes at work things get so abstract that I have no idea what sort of impact I’m really having.”

“Why don’t you get a different job?” Meg asked. “You could look for one you like better.”

Freddie forced a laugh and broke down another chair. “What are you talking about?” she asked. “I like my job.”

“Is it because of your parents?” Meg pressed on. “They do seem kind of pressure-y, but you shouldn’t have to work a job you hate just because it’s what _they_ want.”

“It’s not because of my parents.”

“Then what is it? Freddie, I know you don’t care enough about politics to be working there.”

The chairs almost slipped from Freddie’s hands. She struggled to keep ahold of them. “Look, just because it’s not your idea of a dream job doesn’t mean people can’t like it!”

“I never said nobody liked it, I just said that _you_ clearly don’t.”

Meg was wrong. Freddie liked her job. She _did._ She’d been daydreaming about it since she was four, hadn’t she? And okay, maybe it hadn’t been perfect lately, but she was still pretty low in the ranks. Things would get better as she moved up the ladder. They had to. It was what she had been working toward for years.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she finally said.

Meg shrugged. “Maybe.”

They continued putting away the chairs in silence. Freddie tried to relax, but all of the tension from earlier that day was invading her body, crawling under her skin. Finally, they finished with the chairs, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more she ought to be doing. 

“We should arrange the flowers,” she said. “In the chapel. There won’t be much time tomorrow morning, and we’ll want to save it for emergencies.”

“Weren’t the flowers Hero’s job?”

“Yes, but she’s already gone home. Come on, it’ll just take a minute and then we can leave as well.” 

Meg hesitated, then nodded her head. “Fine.” 

They carried the flowers from the hallway into the chapel. Freddie set to work on one side of the room, while Meg arranged the flowers on the platform. Freddie tried to focus on her own section, but her eyes kept sliding over to what Meg was doing. It didn’t look how it was supposed to. It didn’t look how it had looked in her head.

“No, not like that,” she said, going over to Meg’s side of the room. She bent down and tried to show Meg what she meant. “See, they’ll need to be spaced farther apart, or it will look like we don’t have that many. I was thinking maybe one set over here, and the other across the platform. Oh, and we’ll need to make sure we keep Bea’s bouquet separate.”

“Will you stop telling me what to do?” Meg snapped. “I know how to arrange flowers.”

“Sorry,” Freddie said, getting back to her feet “It’s just that—”

“Babe, I really do not need to be criticized right now,” Meg said. “Especially since floral arrangement isn’t even our job, and Hero’s probably going to have to re-do the whole thing tomorrow because she _actually_ knows what she’s doing.”

“I just—I want things to be nice for the wedding!”

Meg stood up as well. “They will be! But that doesn’t mean you going in and doing everybody else’s job. Hero’s supposed to do the flowers, that’s what Bea wanted. Can you just stop trying to _control_ everything for ten seconds so we can go home?”

For some reason, Freddie felt close to tears. “You don’t understand. It has to be perfect.” She set down the flowers she was holding, using this as an excuse to wipe her eyes. “If anything goes wrong, it’s how they’re going to remember their wedding for the rest of their lives.”

“And you think arranging flowers at eleven at night is going to help with that?”

“Maybe!”

“Stop trying to control everything!” Meg snapped. “You can’t force things to go well by micromanaging. If anything does go wrong, we’ll deal with it as it happens. And you know what? Even if everything falls apart, even if you forget the rings and the flowers don’t get done and every single paper chain falls off the walls, Bea and Ben are going to be deliriously happy because they love each other and that’s the part that matters.”

“How do you know?”

“I just do.”

Freddie sat down heavily on the ground. “There’s just so many things that can go wrong. And I don’t think I’m being ridiculous for considering that.”

Meg sat down next to her. “I’m sorry, I’m really trying to see it from your angle, but I just can’t. There’s nothing that can go wrong. They’ve planned everything out perfectly.”

Floating on the surface of her words was the thing that was too fragile to talk about, the thing that was implicit in all of this but still had to be avoided at all costs. Freddie wondered if this was what drowning felt like. And then, six feet under water, she remembered the promise she’d made this morning to Ben.

“Do you mind getting ready at Bea’s tomorrow?” she blurted out, avoiding eye contact with Meg. This was not the time for this conversation, but there wasn’t going to be a right time, not this late in the game. “It’s just that I’ve told Ben and Peter they can come over to get ready, and if you’re getting ready there too you’ll be in the way.”

Meg’s eyebrows flew up. “You’re kicking me out tomorrow morning?”

“Just for a few hours!” Freddie said quickly. “Anyway, don’t you think you’ll have more fun getting ready with Bea and Hero? It’s traditional to prepare for a wedding with your half of the wedding party, isn’t it?”

“So? What if I had invited Bea and Hero to get ready at the flat?” Meg asked. “Did it ever occur to you that this might disrupt _my_ plans?”

“Well, did you?”

“Of course not!” Meg said. “I would have told you. But that’s not the point. The point is, you don’t get to demand that I move in with you and then kick me out and tell me I’d be getting in the way.”

“I didn’t _demand_ that you move in with me, it just made more sense!”

“Did it?”

“Well, didn’t it?” she asked softly.

Meg’s laughed hollowly. “You know what? I’m going back to the flat. Sorry, _your_ flat. Have fun arranging flowers by yourself. I wouldn’t want to get in the way or anything.”

“We should probably both go home,” Freddie said. “Take a break and talk things through more later. I mean, rule five is that we aren’t supposed to fight in public spaces.”

Meg rolled her eyes. “Right, I forgot. The rules are all about making our relationship functional, right?”

“Yes!”

“So they’re not at all about the fact that you feel the need to control _literally everything_ that happens?”

“I don’t need to control everything!”

“Oh, really?” Meg asked, crossing her arms. “Because I seem to recall that twenty minutes into the flight home from Vegas you were already making pro-con lists about every aspect of our lives.”

“What, and you wanted to get back to Wellington and not know where we were going to live?”

“It was a twenty hour flight! We had time to figure it out! Couldn’t we have had a few hours just to breathe before you had to go all adult and sensible about it? I wanted to stay married because I _like _you, not so we could set up strict rules about our relationship and make it like school or something.”__

__“I’m not trying to make it like school!” Freddie said. She almost stomped her foot in frustration, but the gesture felt too childish. “I just—I just don’t want it to fall apart because we didn’t plan ahead.”_ _

__“I’m trying, okay?” Meg yelled. She looked close to tears. “I’m really, really trying. So you can stop acting like I’m going to ruin everything because you didn’t reign me in enough. I went to your parents’ house for dinner, didn’t I? I moved into your stupid flat. I’m not going out of my way to fuck up this marriage or whatever the hell everyone thinks I’m doing.”_ _

__“I never said you weren’t trying hard enough.”_ _

__“Maybe not out loud. But every time you tell me one more thing you need from me, that’s what I hear. Do you realize that I haven’t asked you for _anything?_ All of the rules are yours.”_ _

__“Oh, right, you’ve never asked me for anything. Not even, I don’t know, to stay married?”_ _

__“You’re the one who wanted to get married in the first place!”_ _

__Freddie swallowed hard and looked down at her feet. “I know,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry.”_ _

__“I don’t want you to be sorry! I want you to stop acting like I’m some stupid teenager who can’t do anything right without a million rules controlling my behavior. I want everyone to stop treating me like _I’m_ the irresponsible one when none of this was my idea!”_ _

__“I’m not treating you like that,” Freddie said. She hoped it was the truth._ _

__Meg yanked the lily out of her hair. “Oh, no!” she said, putting on a shocked face. “Silly irresponsible Meg’s got her hands on a flower. What _will_ she do next? Look, now she’s ripping off the petals. Oh, no, they’ll get all over the floor, someone will slip! This wedding is a disaster, and it’s all her fault!”_ _

__Freddie ran her hands through her hair. “We can’t do this right now,” she said. “We have to go get some sleep so we’re well-rested for the wedding.”_ _

__The flower dropped out of Meg’s hands and onto the floor. “Right. The wedding.” There was exhaustion in her voice and something beyond exhaustion, something that sounded sharp and painful. This was hurting her. _Freddie_ was hurting her._ _

__“You know, we don’t have to do this,” Freddie said. A lump formed in her throat, but she forced her way past it. “Just because we tried it out doesn’t mean we have to stick with it.”_ _

__“So we can go home and stop worrying about the flowers?”_ _

__“I’m not talking about the flowers,” Freddie said. She fought back the tears in her eyes. It wouldn’t be fair to break down right now, not while she was offering Meg a way out. “I’m talking about us. The whole being married thing.”_ _

__Meg’s face went blank. “Oh.”_ _

__“I just—it’s hurting us, isn’t it?” Freddie asked. Things were suddenly coming clear. The fighting, the tension. This wouldn’t be happening if she hadn’t decided they should get married. It was her fault._ _

__“Maybe.”_ _

__She hesitated. “If you want to stop—we can still get a divorce, you know. We agreed that we’d give it a try, not that we’d keep going if it was hurting us.”_ _

__Meg ran a hand through her hair. “All I want to do is get through the next twenty-four hours,” she said._ _

__“A break, then,” Freddie suggested. “We can take a break and decide if we want to stay married once we’re less stressed.”_ _

__“I don’t know if it works like that,” Meg said. A few tears slipped from her eyes. “I mean, real married couples don’t get to just take a break because they got into a fight. They get through it. So I need you to decide, right now, if you think this is worth trying to get through. Because if not—” She didn’t finish her thought._ _

__Freddie looked down at the torn up flowers. There was so much emotion in her body that she could feel it in her fingertips. It was too much._ _

__After a few moments, Meg. “I guess that’s my answer, then. I’ll go back to my own flat tonight. We can figure everything out after the wedding. Bea probably has some friends at her law firm that handle divorces. I’ll find someone to represent me.”_ _

__“Okay.”_ _

__“I’ll text Hero and see if she can get me,” Meg said. She wiped her eyes. “You call a cab to get us back to the flat.”_ _

__Freddie just nodded. She made the call, listening to the phone ring like it was a heartbeat, like the answers she needed were waiting at the end of the line. When somebody picked up, she was barely able to get the words out of her mouth. “Um, yes, I need a cab?”_ _

__They waited outside in the dark to be picked up. Neither of them spoke, but Freddie’s thoughts were so loud that at times, she wondered if Meg could hear them. It wasn’t until they arrived at the flat that Meg spoke._ _

__“I’ll just get my shit, then,” she said, unlocking the front door and heading for the bedroom. “I shouldn’t be too long, Hero’s almost here.”_ _

__It felt invasive to follow her into the bedroom, so Freddie sat down in the kitchen and stared out the window, willing herself not to think. She could hear the sounds of things being thrown into a suitcase, could picture Meg’s frantic gestures as she tried to get away. Freddie wished she had somewhere else to go, anywhere but here. The flat felt overwhelmingly small._ _

__She could hear the footsteps as Meg walked gingerly into the kitchen. Freddie turned her head to look at her._ _

__“I just thought I should probably say goodbye,” Meg said. She was holding a single suitcase. “I was worried I’d have to borrow some boxes or bags, but it looks like this is everything.”_ _

__Freddie nodded. She couldn’t stop staring at Meg’s luggage. Was that really all it took, for somebody to enter and leave a life? One suitcase, the sum total of the space in her flat that had been filled and would now be empty again. It didn’t seem fair. “I’ll see you tomorrow at the wedding.”_ _

__“Right. See you tomorrow, then.” Meg opened the front door and lifted the suitcase down the steps. The door shut behind her, but through the window Freddie could see Hero running up to help her carry it. She watched them leave._ _

__When the car was finally out of sight, Freddie walked over to the fridge and tore off the list, the stupid _fucking_ list that she’d thought would give her answers. She sat down on the floor and tore it to shreds._ _

__The next morning when she woke up, Freddie was determined to make it through the day. She hadn’t cried last night, and she wouldn’t cry now, not until the wedding was over and she’d done all she could to make it a good one. But somehow, it didn’t seem to matter all that much if something did go wrong today. Meg had been right. Bea and Ben knew what they were doing, and they were getting married under the right circumstances and honestly, if anything _did_ happen it would be a little thing, one of those stories they could tell their kids twenty years down the line. It wouldn’t be the grand catastrophe that she’d been fearing. In five years, none of it would matter._ _

__She got ate breakfast in silence, then took a shower and got into her dress. She’d been counting on Meg to braid her hair, but it didn’t matter. Peter would be here in twenty minutes, and his braids were almost as good._ _

__Sure enough, Peter arrived soon after, already in his suit and carrying a tray of coffee. “Thought we could use some caffeine at a time like this,” he said. “I got one for Meg too. I wasn’t sure if she was still here.”_ _

__“She’s not.” Freddie took the tray and set it down on the kitchen table._ _

__“We can split the last one, then,” Peter said, sitting down. “Probably better to keep it away from Ben though, he’s excited enough without multiple cups of coffee. He called me at eight this morning, can you believe it?”_ _

__“He woke you up, didn’t he?”_ _

__“My alarm was set for eight thirty, it’s not like I was going to be late! Anyway, I still made it here before him.”_ _

__“You did,” Freddie admitted._ _

__She managed to make small talk with Peter until Ben arrived ten minutes later. Sure enough, he was dashing around like one of his favorite birds. “Freddie Fred Fredrick Freddington, how are you on this absolutely smashing morning?” he asked the moment she let him into the flat. “Isn’t it a smashing morning?”_ _

__Freddie looked dubiously out the window, where light gray clouds were hovering as though they couldn’t decide if they were going to disperse or get worse. “I suppose it’s all right.”_ _

__“All right? _All right?_ ” Ben demanded. _ _

__“Fine. It’s a perfectly smashing morning. Now come inside for some coffee. Why are you still in your jeans?”_ _

__“It’s bad luck for the bride and groom to see each other in their wedding clothes! Or something like that. Anyway, I have my tux right here,” Ben said, gesturing to the garment bag he was holding. “I’ll have to leave my jeans here overnight though, I can’t very well carry them down the aisle with me.”_ _

__Freddie took the bag from him. Ben’s eyes flicked to her ringless finger. He opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off. “Peter’s got coffee for you in the kitchen,” she said. “We’re cutting you off after one cup, though, otherwise you’re going to be trying to do cartwheels at the altar. Which is _not _a good thing, by the way. I’ve seen your cartwheels.”___ _

____Once coffee was dispensed with, they retreated to Freddie’s room to help Ben get ready. Freddie took the last cup of coffee with her. Peter raised an eyebrow, but didn’t point out they’d agreed to split it. Getting Ben ready was quite the process, since he kept getting distracted and wondering if he should try something else that would make the wedding even more spectacular. At one point, he called Bea and had to be talked out of adding his favorite song from the Star Wars soundtrack to the reception playlist._ _ _ _

____Half an hour before they had to leave, Peter’s phone rang. “I’m just going to take this outside,” he said, gesturing to it._ _ _ _

____Freddie nodded from her place on the bed. She looked at the extra coffee on her side table, still debating whether to drink it. There was no one to save it for, was there? But the coffee and Meg were somehow twined together in her mind. If she drank the coffee, she’d have to think about last night, and really, there was no need. What was over was over._ _ _ _

____In five years, none of this would matter anyway._ _ _ _

____“I can’t believe I’m getting married today!” Ben said excitedly, for what must have been the fifth or sixth time. “Oh! Freddie, have you seen my cuff links?”_ _ _ _

____“You’re already wearing them.”_ _ _ _

____Ben looked down at his wrists in surprise. “Right. Can you think of anything else I might be missing?” He asked. “Come on, Freddie! You’re supposed to be the obsessive detail person. If there’s anything wrong you have to tell me now while there’s still time to fix it.”_ _ _ _

____Freddie gave him the once over. “Benedick Samuel Finnegan Hobbes, you are the most thoroughly dressed groom that I have ever met and nobody looking at you today would ever know how often you get excited about where you’re going and leave your flat wearing two different shoes.”_ _ _ _

____“And you know where the rings are, right?”_ _ _ _

____Freddie opened her purse and showed him the boxes. “I’ll give yours to Bea when we get to the chapel,” she said. “Do you want hers now, or should I wait?”_ _ _ _

____“Wait until we get there,” Ben said. “I don’t want to risk losing it. Maybe we should have had a ring-bearer after all.”_ _ _ _

____Freddie shook her head vigorously. “The only valid reason for having a ring-bearer at your wedding is if one of you has a younger sibling who wants a role in the wedding. Otherwise it’s tacky and impractical. Didn’t you read _Ramona Forever?_ There’s so many things that can go wrong.”_ _ _ _

____“Did you just reference a children’s book as a reason to have your wedding a certain way?” Ben asked, the corners of his lips twitching._ _ _ _

____“They almost lost the ring for good!” Freddie said. “Ten year-old me was horrified. Anyway, all I’m trying to say is that I support your decision.”_ _ _ _

____“Well, originally wanted to have the rings brought in by carrier pigeon, but we couldn’t find anyone who trains them,” Ben said. “And I’d be scared of it swallowing them. Getting married without a ring wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, but can you imagine how much it would harm the digestive system of that poor pigeon?”_ _ _ _

____Freddie laughed._ _ _ _

____Ben looked down at her hands again. “Speaking of rings—” he began, but Freddie cut him off._ _ _ _

____“I don’t want to talk about it.”_ _ _ _

____“Okay.” Ben looked unsure. “But if you decide you do want to talk—just make sure you talk to someone, okay? It doesn’t have to be me, but you should probably talk out your issues.”_ _ _ _

____“Okay,” Freddie said. “If I decide I want to talk to someone, I will.”_ _ _ _

____Peter came in from outside. “Is everything ready?” he asked. “Because if so, we might as well leave now. We have no idea how traffic will be.”_ _ _ _

____“Wonderful idea, Peter!” Ben said, bounding to his feet. “Freddie, where should I put my jeans?”_ _ _ _

____Ben didn’t stop talking on the entire ride to the chapel. Freddie tried to pay attention, but her calm was starting to feel heavy, as though maybe it wasn’t really calm at all but something else entirely. While she was helping Ben get ready, it had been easy to forget that she’d be seeing Meg again when the wedding started. Now, it was all she could think about._ _ _ _

____The wedding march began. From her place on the platform, Freddie could see Hero, and then Meg, walking slowly down the aisle. There were no flowers in Meg’s hair. Five years from now, it wouldn’t matter, but Freddie couldn’t imagine ever forgetting the sight, or the dull ache it triggered in her chest._ _ _ _

____She could barely focus on the wedding ceremony. Time seemed to be moving all wrong, like a piece of music played at the wrong pace. Freddie tried to focus on the opening remarks, tried to tell herself that this was her friend’s wedding and she needed to pay attention to every moment. She tried so hard to focus that she didn’t hear a word that was said._ _ _ _

____When it came time for the vows, Freddie looked at Ben. and forced herself to pay attention. It would be over soon, and then she could go home and cry if she needed to._ _ _ _

____“I, Benedick Hobbes, take you, Beatrice Duke,” Ben began. He was shaking a little bit, staring into Bea’s eyes with something that could only be described as awe. Freddie suddenly felt as though she were intruding on a private moment. Maybe it was wrong, that weddings were celebrated so publicly. She looked away, noticing that Meg had been right about the flowers. Hero, or someone equally good at that sort of thing, had moved them. No one would have known from looking at them that they’d been moved around in the night by someone trying desperately to convince herself she knew what she was doing._ _ _ _

____Bea started in on her vows, looking more serious than Freddie had ever seen her. “I, Beatrice Duke, take you, Benedick Hobbes…”_ _ _ _

____Freddie looked across the platform at Meg. She tried to make eye contact to communicate something that couldn’t be said with words. But Meg refused to look back, staring instead at Bea and Ben as though their marriage were the only thing on her mind. After a moment, Freddie looked away as well._ _ _ _

____Bea finished her vows. The preacher smiled and lifted his arms. “You may kiss the bride.”_ _ _ _

____Triumphant music rose up from the organ as Bea and Ben kissed._ _ _ _

____Something caught Freddie’s eye, and she looked down to see what it was, only to find that the petals from the lily Meg had torn apart were lying at her feet._ _ _ _


	6. Never Shaken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some trigger warnings at the end of this chapter, so make sure to go to the end notes first if you want to see those. Also, mypinkheadphones made a [playlist](http://8tracks.com/mypinkheadphones/ever-fixed-mark) for this fic, which you should totally check out. Shoutout to accioinvisibilitycloak for help with some character names!

It was one in the morning, and Meg couldn’t get to sleep. Her bed didn’t feel right, like it had changed in the time she’d been gone. She rolled over, trying to get into a position that didn’t make her feel like she was sleeping on a pile of rocks, but it didn’t work. At two, she gave up and went to the kitchen for a cup of tea. Maybe she could use this time to get some work done, or at least write down a few interview questions. She was meeting Hero at eleven the next day to talk about her film, and she hadn’t written down any yet. 

As the kettle boiled, Meg looked around the kitchen. Ever since she’d moved back in a week ago, her own flat had felt far too big. She tried not to make too much out of that. Anyway, it was far from the worst thing that could happen. Hadn’t she spent the first six months of her lease bemoaning how little space she had? She could spread out, or something. She proved this point to herself by sitting down in one chair and placing her legs in the one across from it. 

A few hours later she was still sitting in that position notebook sprawled out in front of her and tea long since finished. She was still trying to perfect her questions—there had to be a better way to phrase the second one, and the fifth she wasn’t sure was even related to her topic—but kept having to shake herself to stay awake. Yawning, Meg forced herself out of the chair. She could revise the questions on the bus.

Meg closed up her notebook and put her mug in the sink, a habit she had developed over the past month because Freddie hated dishes being left out. Her bedroom was way too far away, but Meg managed to make it to the living room before collapsing on the couch. She stretched out, pulling a pillow close to her, and was asleep in an instant.

The next morning, Meg awoke to sunlight coming in through the window and hitting her squarely on the face. She stretched, trying to remember why she was on the couch, then looked over at the clock. 

“Shit,” Meg said, staring it. It was already 10:30. Even if she went to the bus stop right now in her pajamas, she probably wouldn’t make it to Boyet’s by eleven. _Shit._

The alarm in her room was blaring so loudly that Meg had no idea how she’d slept through it. Groaning, she dragged herself into the room to turn it off. Her phone was lying by the side of her bed, so she picked it up and checked the bus times, then sent a quick text to Hero to let her know she’d be late. 

By the time Meg made it to Boyet’s, she was a good thirty minutes late. Hero waved her over to her table.

“Hey,” Meg said, dropping her bag down on the seat next to Hero. “Sorry again about being late.”

Hero smiled. “It’s all right, I managed to get some emails sent off. Honestly, it’s shocking how much of the work of directing and producing a movie is just contacting various people about things they need to do so that other people can do different things.”

“Well, I’m glad you got some things done.” Meg ran a hand through her hair. Had she remembered to brush it on her way out the door? She wasn’t positive. “Is it all right if I grab a cup of coffee before we get started? I didn’t sleep well last night.”

“Absolutely! I’ve got plenty of time, we can start the interview when you get back.”

“Thank you.” 

Meg got in line for her coffee, trying to get her thoughts together. Now that the panic was starting to leave her body, fatigue was setting in. She took a few deep breaths while waiting for her coffee, hoping to get it together a little bit. When her name was called, she took her coffee and carried it carefully to the table, taking a large sip as soon as she sat down. It burned her tongue, but the feeling of the caffeine hitting her bloodstream was all Meg needed. She pulled out her notebook and her phone. 

“Okay, I think I’m ready now.” 

“Great!” Hero said. She shut her computer and moved it off to the side, giving Meg her full attention. “So how does this work? I’ve never been interviewed before.”

“Well, first I just wanted to check and make sure you’re okay with me recording this conversation,” Meg asked. “It’s how I normally conduct interviews, and it’ll make it easier to write the article. I promise I’ll cut anything you’re not comfortable with.”

“Of course,” Hero said. 

Meg opened the voice recorder on her phone and hit Start. She looked back at Hero and opened her mouth, but just like that, the first question was gone from her mind. 

“So?” Hero prompted after a moment.

Meg looked down at her questions. They were a mess, but she asked one anyway. “What do you think is the most difficult thing about directing a film that somebody else wrote?”

Hero seemed to think about this for a moment. “I suppose it’s having to interpret somebody else’s ideas,” she said slowly. “As a director, you’re not just telling a story, but you’re trying to do justice to somebody else’s words. With _Girls on Mars,_ it was actually quite easy, because I felt that my own vision lined up very well with what the writer had in mind. That’s not always true, of course. Sometimes queer characters are written badly, and there’s not much I can do when that happens.”

It was a good answer; Hero had even managed to connect it to the main point of the article. Meg quickly looked at her notes for a good follow-up question. “So when you _do_ work with writers who use tropes like Bury Your Gays, how do you handle it? Is there any way in which you as a director have control in that area?”

“I have no control over how things are written, but I _can_ choose who I work with.” Hero took a sip of her tea. “I’m not sure how things work in more mainstream films, but since I tend to do independent movies I get asked to direct before the script is actually completed some of the time, and in those cases I really have to feel that I can trust the people I work with.”

“And what happens if you do get stuck directing a film that is written in a way that hurts queer people?”

“I suppose I just try to do my best with what I’m given, even if I disagree with the writing. But in general I try to stay clear of that sort of story, because I don’t like being associated with media that does that much harm.”

Meg nodded. “Okay. Let’s see, next question—oh, here’s one. Do you find that your experiences are different as a consumer than as a creator?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Hero said. “I mean, as a bisexual trans woman, I find it nearly impossible to see people like me in the media I consume. That’s part of why I feel so passionately about being on the creating end of things. If nobody is going to tell stories where people like me get to be happy, I owe it to myself to tell them.”

“Do you want that in the article?” Meg asked. “You being bi and trans, I mean. I don’t have to say that if you don’t want to be outed.”

Hero smiled. “It’s fine to include. I think a lot of people already know, actually. I’ve tried to be as open about it as possible.”

Meg took a large sip of coffee and moved onto the next question, but she couldn’t get over that smile. Hero had always been so comfortable in her own skin. How had she managed it? How did she live each day so fully herself, when it was so much easier to hide? Meg didn’t feel the need to lie about her sexuality anymore, but that wasn’t the same as being as bare and open as Hero always was. Meg had never been on the other side of an interview, but she was certain she wouldn’t be as comfortable and composed as Hero was right now.

After several more questions, Meg decided she had enough to write the article. She drained the rest of her coffee. “I think that’s it,” she said. “Unless you have anything else you want to add?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Hero said. “Just that I’m really glad you’re adding your voice to this conversation.”

Meg tapped the button on her phone to end the recording. “Thank you for doing this interview,” she said. “I know you have other things going on.”

“Most of what I have going on is promoting the film, so this actually works out perfectly for me,” Hero said. “I’m glad that we can help each other, really. Isn’t it kind of fun, that we’re all grown up and our jobs let us get tea and talk about the things we’re working on?”

The words ‘all grown up’ made Meg’s stomach feel like lead. She loved her job, but somehow these words had a sort of wrongness to them. Weren’t you supposed to stop feeling like a teenager before you considered yourself grown up? “Yeah,” she said softly. “It is cool.” For a moment, her thoughts flashed to Freddie, working a job she hated with terrible coworkers.

Hero took a sip of her tea. “By the way, I was thinking of having a girl’s night,” she said. “Bea’s back from her honeymoon now, and I thought it would be nice if the three of us and Jaquie got together and did a sleepover or something. Do you think you’d be able to come?”

“I think I could,” Meg said, pushing her thoughts of Freddie firmly to the back of her mind “What night were you thinking?”

“Well, as you and Jaquie and I don’t have jobs with regular hours and Bea’s still on leave, I was actually thinking this Thursday, would that work for you? If you have any articles due to close to then we could reschedule of course.”

“No, Thursday works,” Meg said. 

“Good!” Hero said. She began packing up her things. “I have to go now, but I’ll see you then, all right?”

“Yeah, see you Thursday!”

Once Hero was gone, Meg took notes of what she considered the most important parts of the interview. She ended up staying at Boyet’s for several more hours, just because it was easier to work here than at her flat. 

That night, she tried to go to sleep in her bed, but after an hour of tossing and turning, ended up back on the couch. When she woke up the next morning, Meg realized that she couldn’t remember falling asleep.

The week moved sluggishly. When Thursday evening came, it was with great relief that Meg left her flat. She arrived on Hero’s porch at seven and texted to say she was there. A moment later, the door was pulled open.

“I’m so glad you made it!” Hero said, pulling her into a hug. “Bea and Jaquie are in the living room, come on in.”

Meg followed Hero into her flat. Jaquie was standing against the wall. Meg waved, then went to join Bea on the couch.

“Hi,” Bea said, putting an arm around Meg’s shoulder in a half-hug. “How are you?”

“I’m all right. You?”

“All right.”

Hero sat down on the floor in front of the coffee table and poured herself a glass of white wine. “What would you two like?” she asked. “We’re pretty well-stocked. Jaquie used to work at a queer bar and she always insists on having the right alcohol for whatever we might want to drink.”

“I’ll have wine too,” Bea said. “Can I have it out of the Mickey Mouse mug?”

Hero laughed. “Sure. Meg?”

“Do you have schnapps or anything like that?” Meg asked. The words came out stiff, like she was trying too hard not to draw attention to herself. Damn Bea and Hero and their appropriate and classy alcohols. 

“I’ve got you,” Jaquie said. “I was thinking of doing a rum and coke, myself.”

Meg relaxed. Why was she so tense tonight? It was just Bea and Meg, they weren’t going to judge her. “Thanks, babe,” she said as Jaquie went into the kitchen. She came back a moment with a few bottles and glasses.

“I thought maybe you’d like options,” she said, setting down both peach and cinnamon schnapps in front of Meg. She gave the Mickey Mouse mug to Bea, who promptly poured wine into it.

“Thanks,” Meg said. She took the peach and poured herself a shot. Jaquie perched on the arm of the couch next to her. 

Bea settled back on the couch with her wine and turned to Meg. “So, Ben told me about you and Freddie,” she said. Her tone was impossible to read.

“I was going to tell you at some point,” Meg said tiredly. She felt as though her body were sinking through the floor. “I just haven’t felt like talking about it.”

“Okay. We don’t have to talk about it. I’m sure you tried your best or whatever.”

“I did,” Meg said. It didn’t come out as assertive as she’d have hoped. 

Jaquie patted her on the head.

“How are you doing, by the way?” Hero asked. “I know breakups can be really hard, and this is your first real one in a long time.”

Meg shrugged. “I mean, it feels weird, but so did being married.” This was the understatement of the year, but she didn’t know how else to say what she meant, not without getting way further into this conversation than she was willing to go. Being married had been scary, and wonderful, and she’d felt like she was living in a dollhouse, and some days she was sorry it was over and some days she wasn’t. 

“Being married _is_ weird,” Bea said. “I love it, though. It’s just hard to wrap my mind around it. I think I always pictured it as enough of a different stage of life that it would feel different, but really it’s not like that. It’s the same as before, only now I get to see Ben every day. And knowing it’s forever is different, I suppose.”

“How was the honeymoon?” Meg asked, eager for a change of subject.

“It was so nice!” Bea said. She launched into an explanation of the various things they’d done on their trip through Australia. Soon, she had all three of them in fits of laughter about the time when Ben had asked someone to repeat the same sentence three times so that he could practice his Australian accent.

“He’s still trying out the whole accent thing?” Hero asked.

Bea rolled her eyes. “Last night he woke me up at three because he thought he’d figured out how to do a Transylvanian accent.”

“Had he?” Jaquie asked.

“No. But we did have a lovely chat once I told him off for waking me up. We ended up staying up another hour because we had so much to talk about.” 

Hero sighed dreamily. “That sounds lovely.”

“It’s definitely been nice to spend this much time with him. Of course, it’s back to work on Monday,” Bea said. “But that will be good too.”

“How’s work going?” Hero asked. 

“It’s been fine,” Bea said. “I mean, people say stupid things in the courtroom a lot, but I get to tell them all the reasons they’re wrong, so that’s pretty satisfying. I lost a case last month though. It was awful. I didn’t feel like I could show my face at the firm for days, my record’s usually much better than that.”

Right. The law firm, because Bea was a lawyer, and Meg had told Freddie that she’d have Bea get her a divorce lawyer. _Shit._ Meg took a deep breath. “Speaking of your work, is there any chance you can get me the number of a lawyer?” she said, cutting over what Bea was saying. “I know you don’t handle divorces, but it would really help me out if you could help me find someone who does.”

“Of course,” Bea said at once. “Is there anything specific that you or Freddie did that made this happen? Shit, sorry, that came out wrong. I just mean that if I’m giving you the number of a lawyer it might be good to know if there’s anything important about the situation that affects it. That would help me decide whose number to give you.”

“No, neither of us did anything,” Meg said. She ran her finger along the edge of her glass “We just don’t fit together. And before you ask, it had nothing to do with Robbie.”

“Right. Okay, so I think I’ll give you Portia’s number, she’s really good at looking at every angle of a situation.” Bea scribbled it down on a piece of paper and handed it to Meg, who folded it and put it in her wallet.

“Thanks.”

Bea opened her mouth, then closed it. “So, speaking of Robbie,” she began after a moment. “Did you ever tell Freddie about what happened with him?”

Meg groaned. “Come on, Bea, you know I didn’t.” 

“Who’s Robbie?” Jaquie asked, leaning off the edge of the couch to reach for the Coke. She poured more of it into her glass, then added another shot of rum “Hero keeps mentioning him too.”

“Jaquie!”

“You do,” Jaquie said unapologetically. She slid off the couch to sit next to Hero, squeezing her hand.

Meg set down her glass and put her head into her hands. She was starting to get a headache “Why are you guys so obsessed with a guy I dated that long ago?” she asked. “I know that it was super dramatic or whatever, but you realize that you’re being ridiculous, right?”

“What happened with him, anyway?” Jaquie asked. Meg looked up to shoot her a glare. “What? I love other people’s drama.”

Meg leaned back and downed her schnapps. Maybe she _should_ tell the story, if only so Bea and Hero wouldn’t make a big deal of her not talking about it. Besides, if there was anyone she could trust to not be judgmental, it was probably Jaquie. 

“It was just a really bad breakup,” Meg said. She refilled her glass and tried to act as though her heart wasn’t beating faster than usual. “I can give you the whole story, but I’m not really sure where to start.”

“What was he like?” Jaquie asked.

Meg took a moment to think about this. “Robbie was—well honestly, he was a pretty typical teenage guy, and I don’t mean that in a flattering way. And he was that kind of guy who didn’t follow rules unless he wanted to, which I was really into at the time. I couldn’t believe someone like him would actually like me. I’m pretty sure he knew that, too. Sometimes he would say things—well, when I was with him, it was always like I was trying to prove I was tough enough so he wouldn’t stop liking me. I actually shoplifted a few times just because he wanted me to.”

Hero looked sad. “Oh, Meg, I don’t think you ever told me that.”

“I didn’t want to ruin your image of me,” Meg said. She’d worked so hard to do everything right, so that the outside looked perfect

“But it wasn’t your fault, it was his,” Hero insisted.

Was it? Meg still wasn’t sure about that. As awful as Robbie had been, he’d never forced her to do anything. Whatever she’d done while she was with him, it had to have been inside of her before he’d come along. She wasn’t looking for excuses anymore. She just wanted to be saved from herself.

“He sounds awful,” Jaquie said. 

“Yeah, he was an asshole. He could be charming, though. My parents adored him.” Meg’s stomach hurt just thinking about it, so she changed the subject. “Anyway, what happened is that we were out in the park one night, and he’d brought a bottle of vodka and we both got absolutely trashed. I could barely walk without falling over. And then he got a call, and he said he had to go for a little while, and then he left.” 

“He left you alone?”

“Yeah.”

“She called us when she realized he wasn’t coming back,” Hero said. “She couldn’t remember where she was, so I made my boyfriend call Robbie and he told us. When we found her she was passed out on the ground.”

Bea was shaking with anger. Meg turned away from her so that she wouldn’t have to look.

“It turned out I had alcohol poisoning,” she said. “I didn’t know what my limits were with alcohol back then, and Robbie didn’t tell me I’d had too much. I mean, he was drinking pretty heavily as well, he might not have noticed.”

“Don’t make excuses for him. You could have died,” Bea said. 

“I’m not making excuses,” Meg snapped. “I’m just saying that he was drunk too.” It was what teenagers did, wasn’t it? Get drunk and stupid with a guy they were dating because everyone expected them to. She’d just been following the outline other people wrote for her. 

“Not drunk enough to have his stomach pumped.”

“No,” Meg admitted. She was glad she couldn’t remember that part. Most of that evening was a blur, really. She’d come to accept that. Some things were better forgotten.

“Please tell me you dumped his ass after that,” Jaquie said.

Meg nodded. She drained her glass of schnapps, hoping to dull the edges of everything she was feeling. “It doesn’t matter,” she said. It did. “It was a long time ago.” It felt like yesterday sometimes. Meg wanted to believe she’d grown away from it, but she was fairly certain the only direction she’d grown was sideways

“You know, I still can’t believe he treated you like that,” Hero said. “Sometimes it just occurs to me how terrible that was, and how none of us really knew what you were going through. I feel awful that we let that happen.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Meg said, closing her eyes. “Anyway, you guys were the ones who gave me a place to stay after that.”

Jaquie tipped her head. “Why did you need a place to stay? Wouldn’t you have still been living with your parents?”

“It’s a long story,” Meg said. “And it doesn’t really matter.” She wanted it to stop. Hadn’t it been enough, explaining about Robbie? Did she really have to talk about dropping out of school, leaving home, the prolonged aftermath of everything? 

Bea was looking at her carefully. “Maybe we should talk about something else,” she said after a moment. “Hey, have I shown you guys my trip photos? Ben got ahold of my phone and took a picture of every bird we saw, just a sec.” She pulled out her phone to show them. 

After they’d looked at forty-six bird photos and watched two movies (the second of which had been _But I’m a Cheerleader,_ ) they decided to turn in for the night. Hero insisted that she and Jaquie join the others in the living room instead of sleeping in their bed, and brought out enough sleeping bags for everyone. 

As she was waiting to fall asleep, Meg looked over at Bea. She wondered how Ben was doing, whether he could sleep when Bea wasn’t there. Part of her hoped she couldn’t, that he was so madly and wonderfully in love that being away from Beatrice kept him up as much as being with her did. She wondered what it was that kept people up at night, other than love and fear. It seemed that everything could be traced back to one of the other.

That line of thinking wasn’t going to lead anywhere good, so after another moment of staring Meg turned her head firmly away and forced herself to shut her eyes. 

The next few days passed uneventfully. Meg turned in her article, which she was fairly certain was too similar to every other article about Bury Your Gays, but decided not to worry about it. On Monday she remembered that it had been a few days since she’d bothered to get the mail, having gotten out of the habit while living at Freddie’s. Sure enough, when she went outside to the mailbox it was quite full. Meg took the stack and carried it to the kitchen table.

She sorted through the mail absently. Most of it was bills, which Meg set off to the side of the table. Finally, there was only one piece of mail left: a large, padded envelope. The original address was crossed out, with a new one written in. It took Meg a moment to realize that it had been originally sent to Freddie’s flat.

Meg stared at the writing on the package, unable to comprehend it. The handwriting on ‘change of address’ was certainly Freddie’s, which meant that she’d seen this package arrive for Meg, sent it on, and had felt—what? Confused? Angry? Or had she not cared at all?

 _Of course she cared, you idiot,_ Meg told herself firmly. Not caring had never been the problem. Anyway, there were bigger things to wonder about, like who the hell would have sent her mail to Freddie’s flat, when she’d never officially changed her address to Freddie’s to begin with. 

Her fingers felt clumsy as she tore through the seal of the envelope. She reached inside and pulled out a note. 

_Dear Meg,_

_These earring belonged to Freddie’s grandmother, but she hasn’t worn them in years. She was hoping they’d be passed on on to someone in the family, but as neither Freddie nor I wear large jewelry, they’ve just been gathering dust in my jewelry box. When you came over for dinner I wasn’t thinking about them, but yesterday I was looking at them and realized they seem like your style. If you don’t like the earrings or don’t want them, you can of course give them back, but I figured there was no reason not to send them your way and see what you thought._

_Love,_  
_Virginia Kingston_

Meg stared at the letter for a moment, then reached her hand back into the envelope and felt around until she found the earrings towards the bottom. She pulled them out to take a look.

The earring were long and black, the large center bead decorated with electric blue flowers. Meg touched them carefully, not sure if this was allowed. Freddie’s grandmother had wanted them to be passed down through the family, and instead they’d been sent to Meg, standing in her own kitchen with the number of a divorce lawyer in her wallet.

Freddie hadn’t told her parents they were splitting up, Meg realized. If she had, there was no way they’d have sent her this gift. But it was inevitable that it would happen soon, wasn’t it? Meg wondered how that conversation would go. Maybe Freddie would tell them over dinner, in that same dining room where Meg had once sat.

Meg shook herself. She couldn’t afford to think like that. How Freddie chose to explain things to her parents wasn’t her problem. Anyway, it wasn’t like she herself would have to have that conversation.

Except. Should she have told her own parents? It had made so much sense not to, and this breakup seemed to prove her right, but somehow Meg wasn’t sure anymore. The conversation about Robbie a few days ago had brought her family to the forefront of her mind. How would it feel at the obligatory Christmas party next year, when she’d gone through a marriage and a divorce and nobody knew but her? This was beyond the usual level of not revealing information to her parents. 

Meg got up from the table abruptly. What she needed was a break. She hadn’t gone out and done something alone since before Vegas. Girls’ Night with her friends was fun, but it wasn’t the same as going out by herself. Alone, she didn’t have to worry about what other people wanted. If she decided to stay out until five in the morning, she could, and if she decided to go home at eleven she could do that too. 

There was a bar she’d been meaning to check out for months, so Meg looked up the best way to get their while applying her eyeliner. When she’d finished getting dressed, she took a look at herself in the mirror. Her outfit looked great, but it was missing something.

 _No,_ she told herself firmly. She couldn’t just wear Freddie’s grandmother’s earrings to the club, even if they would be perfect with her outfit. Anyway, probably the second she tried them on she’d realize they didn’t even look that good.

Although… if that was true, there really was not reason not to try them, was there?

Meg found the envelope and dug out the earrings. She held them in front of her ears, hoping they’d look awful with her dress. Instead, she found that they looked unfairly good.

She set the earrings firmly down on her dresser. It wouldn’t be fair to wear them. But then, she thought angrily, when had Freddie ever been fair? The words “you’ll be in the way” danced through her mind. And those rules. Those stupid rules about the right way to be in a relationship. Well, maybe Meg didn’t feel like living her life that way. She’d spent the entirety of her teenage years doing what people expected her too. She shouldn’t have to do it now that she was an adult.

They were just earrings, and if Freddie didn’t want her to wear them, it was her own fault for bringing Meg to meet her parents in the first place. 

Without giving herself time to think about what she was doing, Meg jammed the earrings into her ears and went out to get the bus.

Meg arrived at the bar at elven, and within five minutes of entering she found a group of guys eager to have her do shots with them. With every drink she found her chest loosening. She hadn’t even realized it was tight until now. She drank, and flirted, and did the thing with her hair that men always seemed to love, and it was easy. 

When the guy sitting across the table (Brad? Chad? She couldn’t remember) asked her to dance, Meg grinned and grabbed his hand. They moved to the center of the floor. Dancing like this was incredible; it meant that Meg didn’t have to think. Her body was close to another body, but she wasn’t consumed by it. Whatever this guy’s name was, he couldn’t make Meg feel any way she didn’t want to. There were barriers. She was safe. 

When the song ended, the guy leaned over to talk in her ear. “Do you want to get out of here?” he asked. “My place isn’t too far.”

Meg laughed. “No, you’re too drunk,” she said, pushing him playfully on the chest. “I wouldn’t want to take advantage of you.” 

Before Brad-Chad could reply, the next song started, and Meg rejoined the throng of dancing people. For the next hour, she threw herself into the music, sometimes dancing with the crowd and sometimes with just one person, although she never danced with the same person twice in a row. She didn’t want to go home with anyone. She wanted to move without her feet touching the ground. She didn’t want to think.

A little bit after midnight, she went into the bathroom. When she went to wash her hands, a girl walked over from the other side of the bathroom and smiled drunkenly at her.

“Hi!” the girl said loudly.

Meg just smiled at her.

“I just came over here because I wanted to tell you you’re a good dancer,” the girl said, speaking a bit louder than was necessary. “I saw you out there and you’re wonderful.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I just wanted to let you know that because the bond between drunk girls in bathrooms is _so important._ Like, that shit’s sacred, honestly. So I have to tell girls nice things when I’m thinking them, especially if we’re both drunk.”

Meg wasn’t particularly drunk, but she laughed anyway. “I agree. Girls need to look out for each other.” This was one of her favorite parts of going out, the way that girls interacted with each other in this sort of situation.

“Oh! I also wanted to tell you how beautiful your earrings are. I noticed them while you were dancing.” The girl reached forward as though she were about to touch them. 

Something hard formed in Meg’s stomach, and she pulled away. She wasn’t even sure the earrings rightfully belonged to her, only that this girl was _not_ allowed to touch them. “They belonged to my ex-wife’s grandmother,” she said. The words curled on her tongue like a lie.

“Oh.” The girl frowned. Meg could relate. 

“I should go,” she said, pushing her way past the girl and out the door. She left the bar and went outside to call a cab, no longer in the mood to dance. All night it had been as though she were skating across the top of her problems and that conversation had added just enough weight to Meg’s body that she was crashing through. She shivered as she waited for the cab. Through the window of the bar, she could see that Brad-or-maybe-Chad had found a new girl to hit on. 

Half an hour later, Meg paid the driver and returned to her flat. It was almost one in the morning, and the reasonable thing to do would be to go to bed, but Meg wasn’t sure she was tired. No matter how much she’d tried to calm down in the cab, she couldn’t help but feel like there was something she was supposed to be doing.

 _Step one is getting undressed and into pajamas,_ Meg told herself firmly. She could at least get these stupid earrings out of her ears. She’d have to find a way to send them back to Freddie’s mum. She didn’t want them anymore, not if this was what they meant. In her bedroom, she slid them back into their envelope and put it in the bottom of her sock drawer. 

Meg went to the bathroom and began to wipe the makeup off her face. She’d just managed to remove her lipstick when she realized what it was she wanted to do. Her heart began to beat faster as she set down the towel and walked to the living room.

The trick was not to think too much, so Meg didn’t think, just picked up her phone and scrolled through her contacts. It took her a moment to realize that she already knew the number by heart.

Meg dialed, her fingers shaking so badly that it took three tries to get it right. Finally, she was able to make the call. She held the phone to her ear, gripping it tightly as she listened to the rings. _One, two, three, four._ After the fifth ring, it went to voicemail.

“Hello, you’ve reached Dot Winter. I am not able to come to the phone right now, but—”

Meg hung up. It had been a stupid idea, anyway. Even if her mum had picked up, Meg wasn’t positive she had anything to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for abuse and alcohol poisoning. Neither of these things happens on-screen, but they are discussed in this chapter.


	7. Brief Hours and Weeks

Freddie couldn’t stop thinking about the package. The stupid package that she had sent on without opening because it had been sent to Meg, not her. She’d been tempted to open it, especially when she’d recognized her mum’s handwriting. Oh, God, they’d probably been meant to open it together, or Meg had been meant to show Freddie what it was—and the next time she and her mum talked she knew she’d ask about it, and then Freddie would have to tell her the truth, and—

Well, it was a mess, that was for sure. 

It didn’t help that Freddie’s brain had woken her up at five in the morning, or that her coffeemaker had finally given up after years of threatening to do so. She should have replaced it a while ago, but it had always been good enough that she could convince herself it was going to pull through. If she’d gotten a new one sooner, she would be drinking a nice warm cup of coffee right now. Freddie had just always thought she’d be able to get a few more years out of the machine, and until now, that had proven true. She’d just have to get some coffee when work started. Which was in—let’s see—an hour and forty three minutes. But the bus would take half an hour or so, so she could pretend it was an hour and thirteen minutes.

Freddie could make it an hour and thirteen minutes without coffee, no problem. Anyway, she had tea, didn’t she? Freddie stared into her mug, trying to persuade herself that it was just as good. Lots of people drank tea in the morning. Ben did. But then, Ben did a lot of stupid things. Freddie was sure there were excellent examples of stupid things Ben had done, but she was too tired to think of one.

Of course, she could have always walked somewhere for coffee, but the only places she could think of were Boyet’s and the place around the corner from the morning before the wedding rehearsal. Both of were too strongly associated with Meg. Anyway, Freddie was pretty sure neither of them were open this early in the morning. It was only six thirty. 

By the time Freddie had to start getting ready for work, she still hadn’t finished the tea. She poured the cold remains down the drain and went to her room to dress. She made it to the bus stop at her usual time, but instead of having to wait five minutes Freddie stood there for twenty before the bus had arrived. The entire ride, she fluctuated between anger at herself for not leaving the house early and something that felt oddly like relief, which she ignored.

When she finally got to the office, she barely stopped to drop off her bag at her desk before heading to the breakroom for coffee. Nobody else was in there.

Freddie grabbed a cup and went over the the machine. She pushed down on the lever, already picturing how good the coffee would taste. Well, no, the coffee at work was always shitty, but she was still excited to drink it. When her cup remained empty, Freddie pushed the lever harder. A small trickle of liquid came out, barely coating the bottom of her mug before it gave up. 

“Damn it!” Freddie said, pulling on the lever one more time. A few more drops of coffee slowly dripped into the bottom of her cup.

Katherine, who had been walking past, stopped in the doorway and said, “Don’t blame me, I didn’t get any either. Petruchio has like three on his desk, though. Do you want my help beating him up? Please? We could probably take him in a fight.”

It was tempting. Freddie closed her eyes allowed herself a few moments to fantasize about this before shaking her head. “How about instead we just threaten to beat him up unless he gives us the other two cups?”

“I suppose that’ll have to do,” Katherine said with a heavy sigh. She led the way to Petruchio’s desk. Freddie followed, staying back a little bit. It was never particularly safe to get between these two.

Petruchio looked up at them as they reached his desk, a mild expression on his face. “Yes?”

“There’s no coffee in the break room,” Katherine said, putting her hands on her hips. “And you have three cups of it sitting in front of you.”

“Yes, both of those things are true. Good to know you can count well enough to enter primary school.”

Kathereine looked as though she might slap him. Freddie wondered if it would be worth holding her back, if she did. She could always intervene, or maybe just grab one of the cups off of Petruchio’s desk and run away while he was distracted arguing with Katherine.

“Well, as the machine is empty and none of us know when it will be refilled, would you be willing to give me and Kate your remaining cups of coffee?” Freddie asked. “After all, you’re not the only one who could use the caffeine, and you can always get more when it’s brought in.”

“I don’t think I will, actually.”

“What?” Freddie asked, surprised at the anger in her tone. She ought to be used to Petruchio by now. Why was she letting him get to her like this?

Petruchio shrugged. “You should have gotten here earlier,” he said, taking a sip from one of the cups, and then another from a second one. “I always have three cups of coffee in the morning. You can’t expect me to change my habits just because other people took more than they usually do. Blame the people who are inconsistent, not me.”

“This is pointless,” Katherine said. “I knew he wouldn’t give us any.”

“No need to get so emotional about it,” Petruchio said. “There’s two coffee shops in a ten block radius of here that should be open by now.”

“That’s not the point!” Katherine snapped. “Why should we have to pay four bucks for coffee when you got more than your share here for free? If you really need three cups of coffee _every damn morning,_ you should take one here and by the second and third. From the sound of it, you could get them both at different places. Did you know that there’s two coffee shops in a ten block radius?”

“Anyway, we can’t just up and get coffee right now, can we?” Freddie said, running a hand through her hair. “Or at least I can’t, I’ve got a lot of paperwork to get through. It’ll be lunch time before I can take that much time away.”

Petruchio shrugged. “Not my problem.”

“Not your _problem?_ Oh, I’ll make it your problem!” Kate shouted.

Freddie decided that she was no longer needed in this conversation, and retreated to her desk. Next to her computer was a sticky note reminding her of Rick’s retirement party, which would take place that afternoon towards the end work. Freddie had not been particularly looking forward to this, and after the morning she was having, she was dreading it anymore.

Work parties were always awful. Freddie had never bothered to make many friends at this job, too concerned with getting out of here and onto the next step, when things would actually get interesting. Usually this wasn’t a problem. She was friendly enough with most people to work with them, wasn’t she? It was only at parties that it bothered her.

Sighing, Freddie forced herself to turn on her computer and get to work. If she got enough done, she’d be able to take a break and buy herself a coffee. 

Unfortunately the day dragged on without a break, as they’d been doing a lot lately. At lunch time, Freddie got a text from Peter asking if she wanted to go to a bar with him and Ben the next night. She texted back _All right._ In the afternoon, she made several calls to important donors to the campaign, only one of whom didn’t hang up on her.

Finally, Freddie shut down her computer and made her way to the break room for the retirement party. She arrived just in time to see the cake before it got cut. It was a sheet cake, with Congrats and Thank You for 50 Great Years! iced onto it next to a few sad looking flowers. It looked suspiciously like the sort of desert that would have some kind of jam between the layers, but Freddie lined up for a slice anyway. Eating, even eating something she didn’t like, would give her something to do besides just standing there feeling stupid.

Once she’d gotten her slice of cake, Freddie moved to the side of the room to eat it. She’d gotten the piece with most of the _50_ iced onto the top. For some reason, she didn’t like looking at it, so she ate that part first, forcing the thick icing down her throat.

People stood in clumps, making small talk with each other. Freddie was relieved to see that most of them looked just as awkward as she felt. Even the guy retiring didn’t look that comfortable with the situation.

Retiring sounded pretty good right now, honestly. Freddie took a moment to fantasize about all of the things she’d be able to do once she was retired. She would travel, of course, and spend more time with the people she cared about, and read all of the books on her list. Maybe she’d take up painting as well, or learn a language or how to play the guitar or something. 

_You’re twenty-five,_ she reminded herself firmly. _You’ve got a ways to go before you can think about that._

But the thoughts continued to plague her. If she retired after fifty years of work, that meant she’d be spending another forty-seven years here. Maybe not here-here, since Freddie hoped to be promoted, but doing this sort of work. She’d be party leader, or run for office, and would probably end up at a desk, making more phone calls and doing more paperwork. She’d almost definitely have to give public statements in front of cameras, and she’d do that stupid awkward stiff thing she always did when she was nervous, and everyone would see it.

Or she wouldn’t get promoted, and would never make it into politics for real. Freddie had never thought about that before, but if it had happened to Rick, it could happen to her too. She’d have to sit at that desk across from Petruchio every day for the rest of her life and watch him take the last of the coffee. Or worse, he’d move on and she’d have to watch him be successful while she was stuck at this same desk for the rest of her life.

Freddie took several more bites of her cake as quickly as she could, trying to force her mind away from the disturbing direction it had moved. Across the room, Rick was shaking hands with people Freddie had never seen him speak to. She examined his face, trying to discern how he was feeling. Was he happy that things were ending? Sad? There were no answers in his lined face; the only thing he seemed was tired.

She felt tired, and it wasn’t just from waking up at five that morning. Come to think of it, Freddie couldn’t remember the last time she hadn’t felt tired, except maybe—

Well, Vegas didn’t count. It had been vacation, it wasn’t the same. 

The room was oppressively crowded. Nobody would notice her absence, not if she was only gone a few minutes. Freddie walked calmly out of the room, walked when she’d have rather run because she could at least keep up appearances.

There was a stack of post-it notes at her desk. She could make a list of things that she needed to get done that week. That usually made Freddie feel better; there was nothing quite like being able to tick things off. She practically threw herself down in her desk chair and began to write. Maybe she could get enough ahead on work to take a few days off soon. Get out of the city a bit, or stay at home binge-watching one of those reality shows Meg had gotten her addicted to.

After only ten minutes of work on the list, Freddie was feeling even worse. Somehow, the things she’d needed to get done this week had turned into what she needed to get done this month, and then the things she needed to get done before she could run for party leader and have a chance at winning, which would get her the hell out of this job—

And then, the terrible thought occurred to Freddie that she wasn’t even sure she wanted to _be_ party leader.

She dropped the post-its and stared down at her desk, mind feeling like it was full of fog. If she didn’t want to be party leader—and oh God, she wasn’t sure she wanted to be in office either—what the hell was she working towards?

Freddie’s chair squeaked as she pushed it away from the desk. She walked towards the break room, and she couldn’t tell if she was seeing clearly or if this was what things looked like through fog. 

She reached her boss, Traci, who was at the table getting another slice of cake. “Can I talk to you?” Freddie asked.

“Of course. Is this something that can be discussed in here?”

“No,” Freddie said, shaking her head vigorously. “No, it has to be outside.”

“Okay,” Traci said, dumping the cake onto her plate and leading Freddie out into the hallway. “What’s going on?” she asked, taking a bite.

“I’m quitting,” Freddie told her.

Traci’s eyes widened for a moment before she laughed. “Kind of a weird joke, Freddie.”

“I’m not joking. Most of my projects are finished, and the others can be done by anyone. I’d recommend giving them to Kate, she’s really good at her job. I can clean out my desk now if you’d like, or I can come back tomorrow to do it.” Freddie’s heart was beating rapidly, but her mind felt strangely calm. The thoughts that liked to chase each other around had fallen silent. 

“You do realize,” Traci said, “That failing to give two weeks’ notice means I can’t send you off with a good performance review?”

“I know.”

Traci hesitated. “You’re one of our best workers, you know,” she said. “I don’t like to say this to people often because I don’t want anyone working here to develop a false sense of superiority, but it’s true. Are you certain you want to throw that away?”

Did she want to work for two more weeks, in exchange for further job security and a letter of recommendation that would probably say everything Freddie had been hoping her boss thought of her? Freddie tried to picture this, but even the thought of coming into work tomorrow seemed like some sort of improbable reality. Even if ending on good terms was the right thing to do, even if it would make whatever came next easier, she knew she couldn’t say yes.

“I’m sure,” she said, and the moment the words were out of her mouth she felt light, almost giddy. Freddie was floating away from herself, and it was the most beautiful feeling in the world.

Packing up her things took no time at all, and all of her personal belongings fit into her bag. Freddie looked around, at this desk that had been her space for three years, and wondered why she’d never bothered to decorate. Maybe she’d always known this would be temporary.

Five years seemed impossibly far away.

It was the next morning when panic finally set in. Freddie had overslept, made breakfast, then looked up cafés in her area that had no memories attached to them. She was waiting for her cappuccino when everything came crashing down, and the realization of what she had done kicked her squarely in the chest.

Her breath was coming out in strange bursts, so Freddie forced herself to use the breathing techniques she’d had to employ during tests in Uni. She managed to drink her coffee and make it back to her house before bursting into tears.

Overall, she was still feeling fragile when she went to meet Peter and Ben that evening. 

“Hey,” she said, sliding into the seat next to Ben. 

“Hey,” Peter said, passing her the drinks list. “We’ve already ordered.” 

Freddie looked through the list carefully, grateful to have somehow managed to circumvent the ‘how are you?’ type questions. This place didn’t have a good wine selection, so she ordered a cocktail because she liked the name. (When it arrived, it turned out to be bright pink and looked like something Ben would have gotten when he was in a whimsical mood.)

For a while, they were able to drink and talk as though everything was normal. Peter told several stories about people at the bar, and Ben kept bringing up things from his honeymoon as he remembered about them, sometimes even cutting into what Peter was saying. Freddie wasn’t talking that much, at least, until Ben addressed her directly.

“So,” he said, turning to her. “Bea says Meg is pretty miserable.”

Freddie narrowed her eyes. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Just figured you’d want to know, I guess. I’d want to know, if Bea and I were in that sort of situation.”

“Well, I don’t.”

“Have you filed for divorce yet?” Peter asked. 

Freddie glared at him. “No. Meg said she’d contact me when she got a lawyer. I’m not going to call her first. Anyway, it’s none of your business how I handle this, is it?”

Peter looked at her for a moment, then shrugged and took a sip of his beer. “No, I guess not.”

“Meg will contact her when she’s ready. Bea also told me she’s asked her for the number of one of her lawyer friends,” Ben said, clearly trying to smooth things over a bit. “Meg’s good at taking charge, she’ll probably be calling soon.”

“How is Bea?” Freddie asked. Her hands had gone number at the words _one of her lawyer friends._ It was happening, then. She’d managed to feel as though maybe it wasn’t, in these weeks that had gone by without hearing a word from Meg. Now it was hitting her all over again.

“She’s doing marvelously, thanks for asking,” Ben said. “And I’m doing marvelously as well. I love being married to my best friend. You know, the first whole week of our honeymoon, I kept forgetting we’d done it and she’d have to remind me.”

“So you’re happy you’re married?” Freddie asked.

“I am. You know, it’s really not that different from not being married, except that it’s easier to picture the future because I know I’ll always have Bea.”

Peter laughed. “You know, I think I’ll keep my own future a mystery for now,” he said. 

“So, no plans to get married any time soon?” Ben asked.

“Not a chance,” Peter said. “I’m just enjoying living my life, I don’t want to think about forever right now. Or five years down the line or whatever. Although if I ever do get married, there must be some ways to keep life interesting. Otherwise people wouldn’t do it.”

“Some of us think that things can be interesting and predictable at the same time,” Ben said. “Come on, Freddie, take my side on this!”

Freddie stared at the last few sips of her cocktail. “I like knowing what’s going to happen to me,” she said. The minute the words are out of her mouth, she wonders if they’re true. Would someone who relished in predictability make some of the choices she’d made recently? Some of the best things that had happened to her had been unpredictable. Or were they the worst things that had happened?

“I am right, as always,” Ben said. He looked at his watch. “It’s almost eleven. Should we maybe call it quits? Seeing as it’s a Thursday and all. Not that Peter works in the day, but it still is technically a work night.”

“I can stay out a bit later if you can,” Freddie said.

“Don’t you have work tomorrow?” Peter asked.

_Shit._ Freddie tried to stall by taking a sip of her drink, but it was empty. “Um,” she began, but nothing else came out.

“Oh, no,” Ben said. “I know that look. What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything! I just—I quit, okay? I quit my job.” It had to come out eventually, but that didn’t stop Freddie’s heart from speeding up. Saying things out loud made them real, in a way that maybe should have been comforting but wasn’t. 

“What? When?” Peter demanded.

“Yesterday?”

Ben put on his best shocked face. “Are you telling me that you quite a job without giving two weeks’ notice? Freddie Lauren Kingston, what do you have to say for yourself?”

Panic, which she’d kept at bay since that morning, began to seep back in as Freddie took in her friends’ faces. When she spoke, it was far too quickly. “I hated that job,” she said desperately. “You know I hated that job.”

“You never acted like you hated that job,” Peter told her.

Okay, so maybe she’d tried not to. But hadn’t it been obvious? _Meg_ had known Freddie hated her job after less than a month of interacting with each other. Surely Peter and Ben, her best friends, had realized. If not before yesterday, they should have known somehow, the moment she’d quit. It should have mattered enough to create a rift in the fabric of time and space, so there wouldn’t be this terrible dissonance.

“Does your quitting have anything to do with Meg?” Peter asked. 

Freddie shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know.”

Peter was silent for a moment. “Have you considered seeing a therapist?”

“No. And don’t you dare suggest I do, Peter Donaldson.”

“What? You used to see a therapist during Uni!”

“Yeah, but that was about my anxiety.” Freddie closed her eyes. “I don’t want to see some—marriage counselor, or whatever, because of a stupid decision I made while jet-lagged!” Her head was beginning to ache. “Can we please just drop this? All of it?”

“Fine,” Peter said. “So just so we’re clear, you don’t want to talk about Meg or work or any possible correlations between the two?”

“That’s right.”

“Is it all right if I talk about Bea?” Ben asked. “I know she’s connected to Meg, but I really want to keep talking about the honeymoon, and if you’re looking for a change of subject I’ve got a story that would be an excellent one.”

“Of course you can talk about Bea,” Freddie said. “I’m not asking you two not to talk about your own lives, I just don’t need a running commentary on mine.”

“Okay,” Ben said, and instantly began his story. Freddie had meant what she’d said, and was grateful to him for the change of the subject. Even so, every once in a while Ben would say something that showed just how much he loved being married, and every time it sent a stab of ice through Freddie’s chest. Everything she’d ever done, it seemed, had been for the wrong reasons.

Around midnight they really did call it quits. Freddie left the bar gratefully, hoping that the next time they all got together, she’d have things in her life more sorted out.

Over the next few days, Freddie really tried to get it together. Peter told her there was an opening at Navarre Bar where he worked, so she sent in an application. She called her parents, but couldn’t bring herself to tell them about Meg or her job. When her mum asked if Meg liked the earrings, she just said yes, and tried not to be curious. She bought a new coffee maker.

Two days after she sent in the application, Freddie was called for an interview. They hired her at once, solving the problem of how she was going to make rent that month. She tried to be thankful. She just felt tired

Mostly, Freddie spent her time doing whatever Peter and Ben were doing. Every time she was alone, she would end up backtracking over the things that had happened up to this point, wondering how she’d gotten so lost. She went with Ben to the zoo to look at birds, did shots with Peter after work. She stayed scared, but pretended not to be. Five years from now, was she going to be working in a bar, still unable to move on or figure out what it was she wanted?

Ten days after she’d quit her job, Freddie found herself at Boyet’s at an open mic. Balthazar was playing, but Ben had tripled checked with Bea that Meg wasn’t planning on going to see him. It was something to do.

Freddie was actually sitting next to Balthazar, hard at work making a list of things she might actually want to do with her life. He was excellent company because he didn’t push her to talk. Peter hadn’t been able to make it today, so they were alone at the table. 

Twenty minutes into the silence, Balthazar waved someone over. Freddie looked up to see a tall guy with dreadlock approaching them.

“Hey, Kit,” Balthazar said. “This is Freddie, I don’t think you’ve met her yet. She’s friends with Peter, they lived together in Uni.”

“Hi,” Freddie said, extending her hand. Kit laughed and shook it, then sat down at their table. For a while, he and Balthazar talked while Freddie worked one her list. The sound of their voices in the background was soothing.

When Balthazar got up to play, Kit turned to Freddie. “What are you working on?” he asked.

Freddie almost snapped at him, then realized there was no way he could know that this was a touchy subject. She sighed. “I’m trying to come up with a new career path.”

“Oh yeah. I heard you quit your job. Mind if I ask why?”

Freddie looked at him challengingly. “I quit because I realized that if I stayed put in this job I’m just going to like it less and less the higher up I get. I don’t want to be party leader five years down the line after all. So I need something new to do. Hence, the list.”

She waited for Kit to tell her she was an idiot for quitting a job without a plan, but he didn’t. Instead, he nodded and said, “Any luck figuring out what you want to do?”

“Five years down the line, or right now?”

“Either one.”

Freddie looked away, pretending she was interested in the song Balthazar was performing. “Not yet. There just isn’t anything I feel like I care enough about. I mean, I’ve found an in-between job, but it’s not something I’m passionate about.”

“Do you think it’s important that you do something you love?” Kit asked. “Because that could be a lot of added pressure you don’t need.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, it could be that you’re worrying too much about finding the perfect job. Lots of people do things they’re not passionate about for a living. Take me. I used to work here with Balthazar, and now I work at a second-hand bookstore. Neither of those are huge passion projects for me, but they pay the bills. And when I get bored of the bookstore maybe I’ll leave and find somewhere else I enjoy working. But it doesn’t have to be perfect.”

“Do you think that’s how it’s going to be forever, though?” Freddie asked, setting down her pen. “I mean, surely there’s something you’re working towards. You’re here playing music, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, but that’s not a career or anything. I play because I love to do it. And there’s a lot of things about life that I love, but I’m not pinning my hopes on a job being one of them. For a lot of us, work is just something you do. You can drive yourself crazy thinking you’re supposed to have some sort of calling or something. Not everyone does. I’m pretty sure I don’t. So it’s better not to worry about it, yeah? You can just go with things and see where life takes you.”

Freddie buried her face in her hands. “Maybe I shouldn’t have quit my job,” she said. “If you’re right, I just gave up a perfectly good job for no reason.”

“Maybe. But it could still have been the right choice. Just because there may never be a perfect job for you doesn’t mean there aren’t any jobs that are definitely wrong, I reckon. You could still find something you like better.”

“But how do you stop yourself from searching for something that isn’t there? How do you know when what you’ve got is good enough and when it’s settling.”

Kit looked thoughtful. “Maybe searching isn’t the problem. Maybe the problem is when you feel as though your life won’t start until you find what you’re searching for. There are a lot of people out there who put everything on hold. It’s like they’re waiting for something to magically fall into place before they can start living. I just don’t think that’s how life works.”

Balthazar finished his song. Freddie clapped loudly, although she hadn’t heard a word of it. 

Kit got to his feet. “I’m up,” he told her. “Good luck with the job hunt.”

“Thanks,” Freddie said. She watched Kit get up and play, then looked back at her list and wrote _I want to be someone who brings kindness to this fucked-up world._

It looked like something Meg might have written. She remembered what Meg had said in Vegas, about how Freddie seemed like an artist. Freddie moved her pen, letting it hover over the page, then dismissed the idea. Art would help the world, yes, but it wasn’t her thing any more than politics were. Instead of being stuck doing what her parents wanted her to do, she’d be stuck doing what her ex-wife had wanted her to do. There had to be a better alternative. 

Or maybe Kit was right. Maybe nothing was perfect, and she should stop trying to make it that way. 

When Freddie got home that afternoon, she brought in the mail on her way into the flat. The package was back, taped shut where it had been ripped open. The original two addresses were crossed out and Freddie’s was written in again, along with a new stamp and her own name across the top. She opened it, confusion mounting.

Inside were her grandmother’s earrings and a note from her mum to Meg. Freddie dug her fingers to the bottom of the envelope, hoping for something else, an explanation, anything. There was nothing else there. Meg had sent back the original contents of the envelope, nothing more.

Freddie sat down heavily and buried her face in her hands. Maybe she should start preparing things for the divorce, even if Meg hadn’t called yet. One of them had to make the first move, after all.

_Not tonight,_ Freddie decided, sliding the earrings back into the envelope. She needed time to understand, needed to know why Meg hadn’t kept the earrings, or sent them right back to her mum. Most of all, though, she needed to understand what it was she wanted. 

The next few days were a blur of lists that she made and unmade. For lack of anything better to do, Freddie began to volunteer at a food bank, but it didn’t feel like any more of a career than working at the bar did. Still, she enjoyed it, so she kept going. It helped her feel like a person, and that was something anyway. 

That Wednesday, she and Peter had the same shift at the bar. It wasn’t the first time this had happened, but it was the first time that this had lined up with a quiet night.

“Jaquie says empty bars are liminal spaces,” Peter told her. “Whatever the fuck that means.”

Freddie laughed and wiped down the bar, even though it was already clean.“I didn’t know you and Jaquie were still hanging out.”

Peter shrugged. “I thought it might bother you if I brought it up, since she’s connected to Meg.”

“I think it’s a little too late to detangle all of the ways my life and Meg’s are connected right now,” Freddie said. “It’s not like she and Beatrice are just going to magically stop being friends, right? And you’re still dating Balthazar.”

“Yeah, that’s true.” Peter used his hands to push himself up so that he was sitting atop the bar, something that Freddie was fairly sure was a health code violation.

“What does Jaquie do? Besides acting, I mean.”

“Nothing. She’s one of those lucky assholes earning enough from doing movies and shit that she doesn’t have to have another job. I think she waits tables when she hasn’t worked for a while, but she mostly doesn’t have to do that.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. It’s shit like that that makes me wish I did movies, you can make a lot more off them than plays..”

“What will you do if you can never make money from acting?” Freddie asked. She’d never thought about that before. It had seemed like if Peter wanted it enough and paid his dues, he’d eventually be able to quit his day job. The thought that this might not be true was horrifying.

Peter shrugged. “I guess I’ll keep working here, or somewhere else that’s flexible enough that I can do it anyway. I mean, I’m going to be acting no matter what else I’m doing. If I can make money off it, that’d be amazing, but if I can’t that’s not going to stop me.”

It reminded her of what Kit had said. Was it really that simple, working to pay the bills and doing things you loved with the rest of your time? 

But then, what was it that Freddie loved? Or was it enough, to enjoy being with friends and reading beautiful books and watching TV in the evenings after a long day? Freddie wanted to ask this, wanted to know if it was possible to live that way, but at that moment several people walked into the bar, and Peter left to serve them drinks.

By the end of their shift, Freddie was still mulling this over.

“Want a ride home?” Peter asked as he wiped down the bar. “It’s two o’clock, you probably shouldn’t take the bus.”

If Freddie accepted, she’d have a chance to ask him all the things she wanted to know. But as that thought entered her head, she realized that Peter wasn’t who she wanted answers from. “Thanks for the offer,” Freddie told him. “But I think I’ll just get a cab.”

“All right. Text me when you get home safe, okay?”

“Okay.”

When the cab arrived, Freddie took a deep breath and told the driver where she wanted to do.   
On the way she stared out of the window, telling herself firmly that if she was going to continue making ridiculous choices this might as well be one of them. When she arrived at her destination, she paid the driver and walked up to the flat. She’d only been here once, weeks ago when Hero had helped them move Meg’s things right after they’d returned from Vegas. 

Freddie stared at the door and closed her eyes, willing herself to be brave, then knocked on the door.

It swung open almost immediately, revealing Meg, who was in a t-shirt that went down to her knees. “Freddie?” she asked.

“I—hi,” Freddie said, swallowing hard. “Sorry it’s so late, I just got off-- can we talk?”

Meg stared at her for a long moment. “Okay,” she said finally. “Why don’t you come in?”


	8. Love Alters Not

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that I've posted the last chapter and epilogue I can finally drop the playlist I made when I first outlined this fic! You can check it out on [8tracks](http://8tracks.com/bisexual-meme-theif/ever-fixed-mark-1) or [youtube](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLj7m5QsHGjuqX9fdXKhMSSZJoXmKJREm6). I'm not positive the 8tracks one will work outside of the US.

After an agonizing moment, Freddie stepped in through the open door. Meg watched her, then sat down on the couch, moving aside the pillow and blanket that had taken up permanent residence there. Some distant part of her realized that her hands were shaking.

Meg’s mouth moved of its own accord: “You can sit if you want.” God, if this didn’t feel too normal. It was as if she’d shifted into an alternate reality, one in which they hadn’t fought, or hadn’t got married when they could have just dated, or a million ways things could have gone that weren’t this one. 

“Are you—sleeping on the couch?” Freddie asked. She didn’t sit. 

The real world returned like a punch in the gut, and Meg reacted instinctively. “Is that why you came here? To lecture me about my life choices?”

“Sorry.” Freddie ran a hand through her hair, the way she always did when she was stressed. Meg’s emotions were shifting quickly enough that she might actually have whiplash. The anger faded and for a moment, Meg could imagine what it would be like to get off the couch and wrap her arms around Freddie, hold her until things were okay. It could have been so easy.

“I haven’t been sleeping well,” she admitted instead. “It’s easier out here for some reason.” She shrugged, but couldn’t quite pull off the air of things not mattering. 

“Oh.”

Meg tried to think of something clever to say, something to regain control of the situation, but there wasn’t anything. She cleared her throat. “So, you said you just got off work? How late are they keeping you these days? Because I could always write a scathing article about the working conditions in the New Zealand government. I mean, it’d be a magazine article and not serious journalism or whatever, but that’d still put the pressure on somebody or other.”

Freddie blinked, looking as though she didn’t quite know where she was. “Oh,” she said. “No one told you.”

“Told me what?”

“I quit. I work at Navarre Bar with Peter now.”

“Oh.” Maybe it was time to reconsider that alternate reality option. Meg could have sworn the world was moving on a different axis than usual. “Are you sure you don’t want to sit? I swear that chair is more comfortable than it looks.”

After a long moment, Freddie nodded and lowered herself into the chair.

“Is everything okay?” Meg asked. It sounded better than _So what the hell’s going on_

“I just wanted to see you. I don’t like how things ended, and it didn’t seem like I was going to get any closure just sitting around waiting for you to show up with a divorce lawyer like you said you would.” 

“I’ve been busy,” Meg said, looking away.

Freddie ran her hand through her hair again. “Maybe I shouldn’t have come.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have,” Meg said. A rock was forming in her chest, right in the place she needed to keep breathing. Damn it. Didn’t Freddie know that talking about things made them real? “You could have at least called first.”

“I didn’t know I was coming until I was almost here.”

“You still could have called.” 

There was a moment of silence before Freddie spoke again. “Do you want me to leave?”

Meg took a minute to think about this. It was tempting to lie and say yes, what she wanted was for Freddie to leave her alone. But if she did, would she be able to turn around and go back to what she’d been doing? Would she be able to sleep that night, or lie awake wondering what would have happened?

“I guess you can stay,” she said finally.

“Thank you.” Freddie was still perched awkwardly on the chair, unmoving. They stared at each other for a moment.

“Do you want something to drink or anything?” Meg asked, jumping to her feet. “I have tea, and I guess there’s some rum in one of the cupboards. You’re probably not interested in drinking, though, otherwise you’d have just stayed at the bar.”

“Do you have any coffee?”

“Are you sure? It’s almost two-thirty, if you have coffee now you’ll be up all night.” _Stop it,_ she told herself. _Taking care of her isn’t your job._

“Decaf, then?”

“Okay.” Meg fled to the kitchen, shutting the door behind her. She took a few deep breaths and splashed water on her face. Right. This confrontation had always been going to happen. She couldn’t have put it off forever. Better to do it now, over decaf coffee in her living room, then wait until she’d called that fucking lawyer and solving things in a courtroom. Or wherever it was that people met for divorce proceedings.

She set water to boil and opened the cupboards, getting out decaf coffee for Freddie and a teabag for herself. Meg took as long to make them as she reasonably could, then returned to the living room. Freddie smiled when Meg handed her the coffee.

Meg sat back down. “If you’re here we should probably talk. Or something. I don’t know. You must have come here for a reason, right?”

“Talking sounds like a good idea,” Freddie said. She took a sip of her coffee, sighing as it went down her throat. “Maybe we should— I don’t know, start at the beginning or something?”

“You mean Vegas?”

Freddie nodded. “I mean, we could go back further but that sounds too much like the sort of conversation people would have in couple’s therapy. Not that there’s anything wrong with people who have to go to couples therapy, but—”

“Yeah.”

“So.” Freddie played with her mug. “We met at that bar, went out walking, and somehow decided to get married.”

“You decided.” Meg closed her eyes. _Don’t do this to her,_ she told herself, but it was just so fucking much. She’d wanted it as much as Freddie had. She had. But marriage was never the road she’d have come up with on her own. That much, she wouldn’t take credit or blame for.

“Well, yes.”

“Why did you do it?” Meg demanded, letting go of the question that had been burning up her body for weeks. Why had things happened the way they had? Nobody had been surprised that Meg would pull something like this, not even Meg herself. But Freddie? The person who got stressed out about flower arrangements? Who woke up at seven every morning and always ordered the same thing when they went out for coffee? The more she knew about Freddie, the less Meg understood.

Freddie set down her mug. “I’ve been trying to come up with the answer to that myself. All I can think of is that it was a change. There’s so much day-to-dayness in life, and you were—well you weren’t part of all of that. You were something different.”

“Like how working at Navarre Bar is something different?”

“Maybe.”

They were both silent for a long time. Meg kept expecting the conversation to pick back up, but by the time they’d finished their drinks, neither had said another word. Setting down her tea dregs, Meg said, “I think we’re too tired to talk. Can we try again tomorrow?”

“Okay.” Freddie looked away. “I suppose I can just go back to my flat.”

The words felt strangled in her throat, but Meg forced them out anyway. Something inside of her was saying this was an important moment, maybe _the_ important moment. “You could stay here if you wanted.”

Freddie’s eyes widened. “Are you sure?”

Meg shrugged, but her heart was doing something weird in her chest. “I mean, I’m already sleeping on the couch, right? So there’s no reason you can’t take the bed.”

“I can’t take your bed if you’re sleeping on the couch.”

There was nothing funny about the situation, but Meg laughed anyway. “I haven’t been able to get to sleep in the bed. If you make me take it we’ll both be uncomfortable, and then tomorrow’s conversation is going to suck.”

“I could sleep on the floor,” Freddie pointed out. She looked as though she actually meant it, which was so not what Meg was going for.

“Look, this is already weird, right? And I’m already sleeping like shit, and neither of those things is going to be positively influenced by me knowing you’re five feet away on the floor. Or in my room on the floor next to a perfectly good bed that _isn’t even being used._ So please just take the fucking bed.”

“Okay.” Freddie took a deep breath. “So, we’ll talk tomorrow?”

“Yes. We can go out for breakfast or something.”

“Boyet’s?”

Meg didn’t know how to reply to this. “I think Balthazar’s working,” she said, although come to think of it, she didn’t know what his schedule was like this week. Still, there was something wrong with the idea of going to Boyet’s when they had so much to work out.

Freddie nodded, seeming to understand. “Somewhere else is probably better. We can go somewhere nobody knows us.”

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

“Okay.” Freddie stood, then paused for a moment. “Good night.”

“Night.”

Meg watched as Freddie walked away towards the bedroom. For some reason, all she could think about was ridiculous things, like whether the blankets were clean and how it sucked that she didn’t have an extra toothbrush for Freddie to borrow. It wasn’t until the door was shut that she was forced to consider her own reality, and the couch that suddenly felt completely claustrophobic.

For a long time, Meg shifted around, trying to get comfortable. She got up and checked if there was a spring poking through the couch, but there wasn’t. She almost looked at her phone to see what time it was, but realized it would make her even more stressed to know. She just had to lay there and wait to fall asleep. 

It wasn’t so bad. There were plenty of things to think about while she awake. Too many, probably. Meg reviewed the conversation with Freddie several times in her head, then wondered if that was what was keeping her up and switched to her recurring fantasy about hanging out on a beach with Channing Tatum. Somehow that turned into wondering what it would be like to be on a beach with Freddie, and then came the return to the conversation. Useless. Freddie would look good in a bathing suit, though. And she’d probably get really competitive about splashing, which was usually annoying but somehow wasn’t in the fantasy. 

There were beaches in Wellington. They could go together, someday if things ever got simple. 

Meg rolled over, suppressing a snort. Things were never going to be simple enough for that. 

She stayed there another few hours, rolling over periodically. After a while, she gave in and checked the time. _Five-eleven am._ She wondered if Freddie was having trouble sleeping too. A tiny, mean part of Meg hoped that she was, just so that she wouldn’t be alone.

Meg must have fallen asleep eventually, because the next thing she knew there was light streaming in her window and her phone was vibrating next to her head where she’d left it. Groaning, she checked who it was, then rejected the call. For a moment, she wrapped the blanket tighter around herself, but then all at once the events of the night before hit her with full force.

“Freddie?” Meg called, dragging herself off the couch with the blanket still wrapped tightly around her. There was no reply. Maybe she was still asleep? Of course, she could have always—

_Don’t go down that road,_ Meg told herself sternly. Freddie had come to her. Until there was strong evidence otherwise, the best thing to do was assume she was still in the flat

Meg went to her room to see if Freddie was still there, but of course she wasn’t. Even when she’d been up late, Freddie had never been the type to sleep past eleven. Still, it was weird that she wasn’t here. Meg couldn’t imagine she’d left without leaving a note. 

She wandered around the flat looking, then ended up back in her room at window. Freddie was there, sitting in the back garden reading _Catch-22_. She was on Meg’s chair, looking so god-damn beautiful peaceful, and all Meg could think about was that she was going to have to go out there in a minute and ruin it. There was no way around it. They had to talk and get this whole thing worked out so they could go their separate ways. They had to talk so that they wouldn’t go to the beach together and displace the Channing Tatum fantasy for good.

Meg rested her head on the windowsill. Damn, if Freddie didn’t look like she belonged out there. 

She went to her dresser and located her hairbrush. Meg knew she was stalling, but ran it through her hair anyway. Her phone went off a second time. She checked, then rejected this one too. _When the hell is she going to stop calling?_ One lapse in judgment didn’t warrant this incessant calling. It had been happening for days, although usually it stopped after the first call.

Right. Focus. She still had to decide what to do about Freddie. A shower might give her time to regroup and think things through. But would it be fair to keep Freddie waiting this long? Or would she be glad to have it put off a bit longer too?

_You’re not a fucking mind-reader,_ Meg told herself. _Stop trying to figure out what she’s thinking._ A shower it was, then. She went into the bathroom and firmly shut the door, dropping her phone on the counter as she stripped and got into the shower. The warm water cascaded down her back, helping to soother her racing thoughts. Maybe she was overcomplicating things, and all they needed to do was be honest with each other. Meg could say what she wanted, and then Freddie could say what she wanted, and they’d either get back together or start the divorce process together. Either way, it would be a step forward. She’d felt stuck for too long not to find the prospect of closure appealing. 

Meg stepped out of the shower. and got dressed She’d already waited too long to begin the conversation, so she decided to forgo using her hair drier and just dry off with a towel. While she was doing this, her phone vibrated again.

“Yeah?” Meg asked, still trying to dry her hair with her free hand. Nobody replied, so she said, “Freddie, if that’s you I’ll be out in a second, I just got done showering.”

“Meg?” her mum’s voice asked from the other end of the line.

The towel slipped from Meg’s hands and fell into a heap on the floor. She closed her eyes. _Fuck it._ “Yeah, it’s me.”

“Is everything all right? I’ve been trying to get ahold of you since you called me, I was so worried. I thought something terrible must have happened.”

“Everything’s fine.”

“Then what is it, why did you call?”

Meg forced herself to open her eyes. She hated how her mother always did this, the transparent need in everything she said. “There’s just some stuff I need to tell you.” While she spoke, she realized that she was still facing the mirror. It had taken her a moment to recognize her own face.

“Oh.”

“It’s nothing bad,” Meg said quickly. “It’s actually—well, it might even be good. It’s a bit confusing really, but right now I think things might work out really well. I should know for sure later today, I hope.”

“What are you talking about? Meg, you’re scaring me.”

“It’s just that I, um, got married.”

The silence stretched on so long that Meg had to pull the phone away from her ear to make sure the call hadn’t disconnected. Finally, her mother’s voice came faintly from the other end of the line. “When?”

“Six weeks ago. It wasn’t planned or anything. I didn’t want to tell you until I knew for sure it was going to last.”

“You waited six weeks to tell us you were married? And what do you mean it wasn’t planned?”

Her mum sounded as though she were falling apart at the seams. Meg looked outside the window, where Freddie was sitting in the garden reading a book. Seeing her there helped sooth her nerves. “Yeah. Like I said, I didn’t know if it was going to last, and I didn’t want to tell you if we were just going to turn around and get divorced.” 

Another silence. When her mum spoke again, her voice was frosty. “Well, I suppose I should thank you for telling me now. Do you have a new address? We’ll be sending you a gift, of course, and I want to make sure it makes it to the right place.”

“Mum…” Meg began, but her mother spoke over her.

“You’ll have to bring this boy over for Christmas, of course, so he can meet us properly. I don’t suppose we have any hope of seeing you before then.”

“It’s not a boy,” Meg said. She looked down at the towel on the ground, staring so hard that her eyes began to unfocus. She’d never told her parents, never seen the point of telling them she was bi unless there was a reason for it. And now, suddenly, there was a reason, and the words had felt so easy coming out of her mouth that she could pretend they hadn’t made her chest feel as though it were full of bricks. 

“It’s not—” The frosty tone dropped, replaced with one that sounded as broken as Meg felt. “You really don’t tell us about your life anymore, do you?”

“I’m sorry.” The words slipped out of her mouth without warning. She wasn’t even sure whether they were true. 

“Why? Why don’t you talk to us? Why did you start shutting us out? Your father keeps telling me that we need to wait and let you come to us, but I don’t understand what horrible thing you think we’ve done that would make you act like this. What’s going on, Meg?”

“Mum, can we drop it?”

“No. I want to know. When you first started doing it I thought maybe it was just a teenage thing and you’d get over it, but you clearly haven’t. It’s been _years,_ Meg. Years.”

“You want to know why I don’t tell you anything?” Her chest was a wall of bricks with no mortar holding anything together. She wasn’t sure if the choice to talk was her own, or if like some perverse game of Jenga, her mother had removed the right one to send everything else toppling down. “It’s because you never listen! You don’t really care what’s going on in my life. I don’t know why you ask, but I know it’s not because you care.”

“Margaret, you’re being ridiculous.”

_Margaert._ Another brick fell from the wall. “Oh, I’m being ridiculous, am I? Do you ever remember what happened two weeks before I went to stay with Bea and Hero?”

“Of course I do,” her mum snapped.

“Then you remember sitting with me in the hospital, holding my hand while I told you exactly what Robbie had done? And do you remember how afterward, when I was crying and asking you what to do, you telling me that if I got back together with Robbie you’d understand? Is that what a mother who cares does?”

“I was trying to be supportive.”

The wall shattered down the middle and collapsed. “Most parents wouldn’t call letting their kids be in what was _clearly_ an abusive relationship supportive!” Meg yelled. “You could have stopped things right there. You could have forbidden me from seeing him after he left me in that park. You could have at _least_ told me you were worried and offered me help. But you didn’t do any of that.”

“You were already pushing us away,” her mum said softly. The quiet in her voice made Meg even angrier. “I never knew if what I was going to do would be the thing that would make you leave for good.”

“Well, congratulations then,” Meg said. Her whole body was shaking. “You found it.”

Her mum sounded irritated. “Did you ever think that if you’d stayed longer, we could have worked things out? Besides, you managed to break up with Robbie on your own, so whatever I said couldn’t possibly have had that large of an impact.”

“I did it because Bea and Hero knew I needed to,” Meg said. “But that doesn’t mean I didn’t want your support too.” Shit, she was crying. “You and dad always loved Robbie. How was I supposed to tell you—but I thought that when something that bad happened, you would have done something. You didn’t care enough about me to keep me away from him.”

“So now you won’t tell us anything in case we act that way again. Or in case _I_ act that way again, anyway.”

“Can you blame me?”

When her mum spoke again, it sounded like she might be crying too. “No, I guess not.”

“I can’t do this right now,” Meg said. “I’m going to go, okay?”

“Okay.”

Meg ended the call, then reached down and picked up the towel off the ground. She folded it carefully, hung it on the rack, then walked into her room. The moment she entered the door, the tears started for real. She felt her body reacting through a haze, as if nothing was entirely real.

The door creaked open. Meg turned her head to see who was there.

“I heard yelling,” Freddie said, standing in the doorway and looking uncertain. “Is everything—” She stopped and looked at Meg for a moment, then said, “Can I hold you?”

Meg wiped her eyes shakily and managed to nod. Freddie didn’t hesitate as she walked forward and firmly wrapped her arms around her. She felt strong and sure, and Meg collapsed into them in a way she couldn’t remember having done in years. Her sobs came out loud and jagged. Freddie made soothing sounds, running her fingers gently through Meg’s hair.

Somehow, they ended up on the bed, arms wrapped around each other. Meg’s sobs slowed, until eventually she was only experiencing the occasional hiccup. When she had finished, Freddie leaned in and kissed the remaining tears off her cheeks. “I’m sorry,” Meg whispered, and she wasn’t sure what she was even apologizing for, but Freddie just held her tighter.

“It’s okay.” And then, “You’re okay.”

It felt like it would be hours before Meg was ready to move again, but Freddie showed no signs that she was getting tired of holding her. Meg had never experienced this kind of warmth before, like Freddie was strong enough that maybe it was okay to fall apart. 

It didn’t scare her like it should have.

Meg didn’t feel herself falling asleep, but somewhere towards the end of the crying her body must have shut down, because the next thing she knew she was waking up and she was alone again.

_Go fucking figure,_ Meg thought. She didn’t linger in the space where she could still almost feel Freddie’s warmth. It was time to grow the fuck up, so she got up and dragged her body to the kitchen. Even if Freddie was gone again, she had to eat. She hadn’t even had breakfast yet, and it must be afternoon by this point—how long had she slept? At any rate, she was starving. She grabbed her phone from the table where she’d abandoned it, planning to call Hero and bemoan the entire situation.

But when she entered the kitchen, Freddie was standing by the stove. She turned when Meg came into the room. “Oh, good, you’re up!”

“You’re still here,” Meg said, feeling suddenly awake in a way she hadn’t earlier. “Good.”

“Of course I’m still here. I wouldn’t have abandoned you after something like that. I was hoping to stay with you until you woke up, but I didn’t know how long it would be so I decided to make some food while I waited.”

“Thank God,” Meg said, sitting down at the table. She could feel her face breaking into what must be an embarrassingly sappy smile. “I’m starving.”

“It’s almost finished. I figured we could talk after we eat, if you’re still up for it. If not I can leave after lunch and come back tomorrow.”

Meg nodded. 

Freddie brought the food over to the table. “I’m not as good a cook as you,” she said as she set them down. “But I thought you might prefer a homemade meal to going out. I always do when I’m feeling rough.”

“Thank you.” Meg looked down at the toasted cheese sandwich on her plate. For a moment, she was terrified she’d start crying again.

They ate in silence. At first, Meg kept trying to think of things to say, ways to fill the void, but after a bit she realized she didn’t mind the quiet. There was too much in her head to worry about talking, like all the shit Bea and Hero had said about Robbie, and how she was always fucking running and didn’t know how to stop. Had Vegas been running towards something, or running away? Everyone, herself included, had seen it as just one more thing in a line of fucked-up decisions, but if that was what it was, how was she here now, across the table from a beautiful girl who held her when she cried and then made lunch? 

When she’d told her mum that this could be something good, had she been saying it because she was desperate for approval, or because she really meant it?

“What are you thinking about?” Freddie asked.

Meg took a bite of her sandwich and chewed it slowly, giving herself time to think of what to say. “Do you really want to know?” she asked when she’d swallowed.

“Yes.”

“Okay.” Meg took a deep breath. “I’m thinking that If we’re even going to consider—whatever it is we’re considering, “ she said. “There’s something I need to tell you about. We are considering something, right? Like, that’s why you came over, isn’t it?”

“It is. What do you need to tell me?”

“I’m not going to go into much detail right now.” Meg took another bite of the sandwich. Despite what Freddie had said, it was actually quite good. It’s just that there’s some baggage that I have—I didn’t think it was affecting anything, but I’ve been having to deal with it more and I think maybe it was after all. If we end up staying together I’ll tell you all of it, but right now I just want to tell you the bare bones. Is that okay?”

“Of course. So what is it?”

Meg looked away. “There was this guy,” she said, swallowing hard. “During Year Thirteen, this guy I was dating. And he did some things that really hurt me, and maybe they’re still hurting me, because I haven’t been able to get close to someone romantically since him.”

“Oh.”

“That’s what my mum and I were fighting about,” Meg said. “Well, that and you. I may have conveniently forgotten to tell them that I was bisexual.”

Freddie just looked at her for a while. “I’m trying to remember something you told me the night we met,” she said finally. “It was after you talked about your marriage pact with Bea. You said you were scared you would never find someone who wanted you for anything more than partying.”

Had she said that? Meg couldn’t remember. It sounded like something she would have said, but she couldn’t be sure. “What about it?”

“Was he the one who made you think that was all people would want you for? The guy, I mean. I kept wondering why you would think that—but if he always treated you like you were some sort of party animal, it makes sense you might think that’s the only thing people like about you.”

Meg thought about this. It would be easy to blame Robbie. Everything he’d done and said, the entirety of how he’d treated her, had made her feel like the best she could ever be was a stupid teenager with a reasonably good alcohol tolerance. But somewhere further back, she knew that she’d felt like she wasn’t good enough before Robbie had come around, too. “I don’t know.”

Freddie nodded. “It’s all so complicated, isn’t it? I feel like everything is supposed to line up neatly so I know how to unravel what I’m feeling. Like, even now, I’m sitting across the table from you worried that my emotions aren’t the right ones, or that they don’t line up well enough with the ones you’re having, or that they’re not connected to what I think they are.”

“Maybe we should just talk about what we’re feeling, then,” Meg said, playing with her sandwich crusts. “We’ve probably avoided it long enough at this point. Any more of this and we’ll be back where we were when we got back to Wellington.”

“Would you be okay with going first?” Freddie asked. 

Meg nodded, but instead of talking she gazed at Freddie for a moment longer. There were so many poisonous things inside of her, things that needed to be said if they were going to move forward. But they would hurt. She wished she didn’t have to say them at all. If only they could reach out and hold each other again, and ignore all of the rest. “What do you want me to say?”

“Whatever you’re thinking.”

“I’m thinking that—well, I don’t regret what happening in Vegas. But—”

“But what?” Freddie asked gently.

“I hated trying to be married to you,” Meg blurted out. She closed her eyes as tightly as she could, then forced herself to open them. Freddie deserved to be looked in the eye whil they talked about this.

Freddie looked down. “Oh.”

“I don’t think it’s anything to do with you,” she said, feeling the lump in her throat get even larger. Shit, she was going to cry. “I just don’t like pretending things. That’s what we were doing, wasn’t it? It was like that thing where you’re eight and you bake cookies or something with a friend for the first time, and you both act like you feel totally grown up, but you know you’re not really. You’re just some kid who knows how to follow directions. That’s what acting like we were married was like.”

After a moment, Freddie nodded. “You’re right,” she said quietly.

“I’m sorry.” She was. “Are you mad that I pointed it out?”

“No, I guess I’m just thinking. I think maybe—that was a really good metaphor, by the way. Or simile, I suppose. Anyway, you saying that made me realize that my whole life has been like that. Pretending that I feel how I’m supposed to even though I don’t.” 

For a moment, Meg longed to reach out and take Freddie’s hand. Why was this always so difficult? “Really? You always seem so together. Like, if there was someone who I thought was faking it, you’re not who I would have guessed.” The words sounded insincere, like she was having a different conversation, one with someone she knew less well. Freddie’s hand was still sitting there across the table. A million miles away.

“I don’t think I realized how true it was until I met you. But I’m trying to figure out what I want now,” Freddie said. “Everyone keeps telling me that I need to find things that will make my life good without expecting things to magically fall into place somehow.”

“Any luck?” Meg asked tiredly. 

“No. All I can think of is—well, Vegas. Which I suppose brings us back on topic, at least. Anyway, what I’ve been thinking about is how when we got married, it was like there was this moment where everything just felt right. And then the next day we woke up, and it didn’t feel like that anymore, and I wanted it back. All I could think about was how _stupid_ we’d been, and how if I’d married someone the way I should have everything would have stayed right, instead of going back to being wrong again.”

“It’s like entropy,” Meg suggested. Freddie gave her a surprised look. “What? Just because I dropped out of school doesn’t mean I can’t know fancy words. It means a decline into chaos, like that things will always revert to a more complicated state no matter how much you try to make them uncomplicated. Things feel right, and then they go back to being chaotic and wrong again.” 

Freddie nodded. “Entropy. I like that.”

“So I guess when we decide how to handle this, we need to remember that whatever choice we make won’t magically fix everything else in our lives. There might be perfect moments, but even if we figure out what we want life isn’t going to be perfect.

“I think I know what I want,” Freddie said. Her hand shook a tiny bit. Meg reached out and held it, experiencing a moment of tension and then release as Freddie didn’t pull away. “I’ve been trying to figure that out in a lot of areas, but this is the only one where I’m sure. Or at least, I think I am. At any rate, I’m more sure about this than about anything else in my life right now.”

“Are you going to get around to what you’re sure about, or do I have to guess?” Meg asked. She thought she could feel Freddie’s pulse in her fingers, or maybe it was her own. Whoever’s heart it was was beating quickly.

“I want to be with you. Wow, that sounds stupid, doesn’t it? Not the sentiment, I just mean—ugh, addressing things straightforwardly is the worst. I can’t say things like that without sounding weird and stilted. Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that I have some sort of feelings for you—romantic type ones, I mean. And if there’s a chance we can work this out, I think we should go for it.”

“Yeah?” Meg asked.

Freddie nodded. “If you’re up for it, that’s what I want, yes. Only I’m not sure how to go about it, really.”

“I want to work things out too,” Meg told her, squeezing her hand tightly. “These past few weeks have been fucking awful. Not that I’m like, using you to get away from my own shitty feelings. I just—I don’t have the energy to pretend that I’m not a little bit in love with you, especially since you’ve told me that you have romantic feelings too.”

“Love?” Freddie asked.

“Don’t get too cocky, I said a little bit.”

“Well, in that case I think I should mention that I just might be a little bit in love with you too.”

Meg didn’t know how to say what she needed to in words, so she walked around this table and pulled Freddie to her feet. “I’m going to kiss you if that’s okay.”

“It really is,” Freddie said.

Their lips met, and Meg fell into the kiss. Her hands went around Freddie’s waist, and God, they could have been doing this for _weeks_ if they hadn’t been so stupid about things. When they separated, Freddie kissed her cheeks, and then her neck before moving back up and meeting her lips.

After a long moment, the kiss was over. “So how do we do it?” Freddie asked, sounding breathless. “I mean, acting all married clearly didn’t work. What’s our strategy?”

“We could do this like normal people, you know,” Meg said. Her lips brushed against Freddie’s with every word. “Go on dates or something, and figure out if we want to be married later on. Without all of the pressure of having to act married or anything.”

“I’m tired of doing things like normal people,” Freddie said. 

Meg moved back, increasing the distance between them. “Oh.” _When left on their own, things will decline to a more chaotic state._

Freddie spoke again. “We could still date, though. But please, if that’s not what we both want, let’s not do it.”

“You know what I really want?” Meg asked with a shaky laugh. She reached out with both hands and threaded her fingers through Freddie’s. “To run away to the beach or something. Can we just get away for a weekend and sort out our shit? Or not sort it out, that works too, I just think we should get away. Everything was so easy when it was just the two of us in Vegas, and then there was everyone else and their expectations and—I would really like to go away for a weekend with you and not have any of that.”

Freddie tipped her head to the side. “You know, I’m not scheduled to work for the next few days.”

“Seriously?” She hadn’t expected the idea to be given any more weight than a _yeah that’d be nice to do someday, if only we could._ Meg hadn’t even considered the possibility that this was a serious option.

“Yeah, they aren’t giving me many shifts yet since I just started working there.” Freddie squeezed her hands. “Should we do it? If we leave soon, we might be able to beat traffic. If we can get ahold of a car one of us can drive and the other can book accommodations. I’d prefer if you drove because I had sort of specific standards for hotels, but if you don’t want to I’m sure we can figure something out.”

“You want to leave right now?”

“Why not?”

“Because you hate spontaneous decisions.”

“No,” Freddie said quietly. “As it turns out, I don’t hate them at all.”

Meg could feel a grin forming on her face. “I’ll text Hero and see if we can take her car,” she said. She reluctantly pulled her hands away and retrieved her phone from the table. “Do you want to sit down and plan it all out? Or should we just drive and see where we end up? I know you’ll want to book something for the night, but if we have a couple of days after that we can spend the daytime without a plan and just go to the hotels at night.”

“Let’s just see where we end up,” Freddie said. “I mean, it’s worked for us so far.”

Meg wrapped her arms around her and grinned. “It has, hasn’t it?”

Freddie didn’t reply, just leaned in for another kiss.


	9. Epilogue- The Star to Every Wandering Bark

**Six Months Later**

There was a wedding topper on the cake with two brides on it, and no matter how much Freddie tried to pay attention to the people trying to talk to her, all she could think of was how glad she was that the cake hadn’t been cut yet so she could stare at the topper a bit longer.

Meg’s mother approached her, looking a bit wary but with a large smile on her face. She took Freddie’s hand the way that middle age ladies did when they really should be shaking hands but instead just weirdly held them. 

“Congratulations,” she said, shaking Freddie’s hand. “I’m so glad that you two decided to have a ceremony at home, it just seems so wrong to get married in another country where your friends and family don’t get to share it with you.”

“Thank you.” The decision had been surprisingly easy to make, once things got past the rocky stage and started going right between her and Meg again. There were still days when they realized how little they knew each other, or slept in separate apartments because they weren’t used to having another person around yet, but that was all right. 

Dot let go of her hand, started to walk away, then turned and came back with a determined look on her face. “I just wanted to say that I’m glad Meg found you,” she said in a rush.

Now that was something Freddie hadn’t expected to hear, not from Dot Winter anyway. “Thank you. I feel pretty lucky to have found her,” she said, looking across the courtyard to where Meg was talking to several people at once. Freddie couldn’t wait for later, when it would be quiet and she’d have her all to herself. Still, the wedding thing wasn’t all bad. It was nice that Meg’s parents had come, especially after Meg had spent all that time debating over whether she wanted to invite them or not.

Freddie made the rounds a few more times, then noticed that Meg had managed to find a seat off to the side of the room where she wasn’t next to anyone. Freddie almost tripped over herself to join her, knowing the moment might be fleeting. 

“My grandma recognized the earrings,” Freddie said, sitting down next to Meg. “She said something earlier.”

Meg grinned at her. She looked absolutely stunning in her white dress. “I know. She told me they looked beautiful on me. She also said that if I ever divorce you or hurt you in any way I’ll be looking at the biggest emotional damages lawsuit she can reasonably win.”

Freddie laughed. “Well, Gran does love suing people. She was a lawyer for forty years. I can’t remember her ever losing.”

“Well, then it’s a good thing I have no immediate plans to divorce you. And that she doesn’t know how complicated things were for a while there.”

“I think it’s good they were so complicated,” Freddie said, resting her head on Meg’s shoulder. “It’s too easy to go through life without really trying anything or getting anywhere. Complicated things push us.”

“So basically you’re saying you’ve been using me to sort out your life.”

“Too late to back out now, Winter,” Freddie said, kissing her on the cheek. “You’re stuck with me now.”

“I can live with that.” Meg kissed Freddie on the forehead. “And it’s Kingston-Winter now, don’t you forget it.”

Freddie laughed, a feeling of warmth spreading through her. Tomorrow they’d wake up, and things would basically be the same and being married wouldn’t fix everything, but that didn’t mean it didn’t matter. That didn’t mean that this moment wasn’t worth keeping. A familiar song started. Freddie frowned, trying to figure out what it was. It wasn’t until the words began that—

“Time to dance to our song,” Meg said. “Come on, Freddie, up and at ‘em.”

“Are you really going to make me dance to this?” Freddie groaned, burying her face in her hands.

Meg laughed and grabbed her arm. “Babe! You’re the one who said they should play this at our wedding.”

“Yeah, but that was when the wedding was hypothetical. I wasn’t thinking we’d really have to do it in front of my _parents._ ”

“Hey, I worked very hard on making sure this wedding went exactly according to our hypothetical plan,” Meg said. “You can’t just come in here and ruin it with your whole refusing to dance to ‘Girls Like Girls’ thing. Besides, it’s not like today’s the real wedding.”

“That’s true,” Freddie conceded. She couldn’t help but smile at the memory of that chapel in Vegas. She’d spent months wondering how something so silly could have felt so perfect. It didn’t bother her anymore.”

“I’ll let you lead,” Meg said, still clearly under the impression that Freddie needed convincing.

“Okay,” Freddie said. “Let’s dance.” 

She got to her feet and slid her arms around Meg’s waist, and okay, maybe it was just one moment and not the entirety of her life, but it still felt absolutely perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the fic! Special thanks to everyone who read, left kudos, commented, or supported me in any other way, and a huge shoutout to [InnermostBox](http://archiveofourown.org/users/InnermostBox/pseuds/InnermostBox) for being a great beta, consultant, and cheerleader when I was discouraged about this fic. This was so fun to write, and I hope you all had fun reading it too.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments are always appreciated. You can find me on tumblr @bisexual-meme-thief


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